


This Long and Winding Road

by Antarctica_or_bust



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: AU AU AU from this point on :), Alternate Universe - Battle Of Five Armies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Humor, Badass Fíli, Badass archer Kíli, Battle of Five Armies, Beorn's House, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, Brothers Dori and Nori and Ori, Courtship, Crazy Thorin, Cultural Differences, Denial of Feelings, Did I mention pining?, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durin III is to blame for everything, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Politics, Dwarvish law completely sucks, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Empathy, Extended Movie Canon, Flirting, Forbidden Love, Fíli and Kíli Brotherly Love, Humor, Hurt Kíli, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Kili, Jealousy, Kíli is only charming when he doesn't care, Laketown, Love Triangles, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Mirkwood, Missing Scene, Misty Mountains, Multi, Oblivious Bilbo, POV Bilbo Baggins, POV Minor Character, POV Multiple, Pining, Poignant, Pre-Series, Prophecy, Protective Fíli, Protective Kíli, Self-Sacrifice, Seriously - did I mention the angst?, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, This one is gonna hurt, Thorin is kind of a dick, Unrequited Love, Weddings, Worldbuilding, Worried Kíli, Worry, even more angst, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 110,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarctica_or_bust/pseuds/Antarctica_or_bust
Summary: Fíli and Kíli have spent decades searching for the last piece of their hearts, but meeting Bilbo is just the beginning of the tale.  Because hobbits believe in love, not destiny and someone else catches their burglar's eye.





	1. Ze'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ncalkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncalkins/gifts).



> who gave me this prompt 2 and a half years ago and has been remarkably patient ever since. I'm not sure how fast I'll be updating since the story still needs some editing (I've already reposted a new chapter 1 and I haven't even gotten to the epilogue), but I promised you this year and I was damn well going to deliver. I hope it's worth the wait. I swear the whole thing's not as angsty as the start would make it seem.
> 
> Also, I may have gone slightly overboard with Khuzdûl in this fic, particularly in the beginning. So, to limit the confusion, anyone who isn't also a linguistics minor or obsessed with dwarvish should probably see the glossary at the end of chapter 1. You will also find this glossary at the current end of the fic for anyone who needs a refresher. Some of these are not exact translations, but rather how I'm using them.

Years before Fíli and Kíli learn the word for longing, they know that something important is missing from their lives.

However, the brothers never speak of this to their friends or family because they are certain that no one else would understand. Fíli and Kíli aren't supposed to need anyone but each other. Why would they when the gleaming runes upon their wrists bind them together, have bound them from the moment the younger dwarf was born?

Fíli and Kíli are amrâbulnâs, destined lovers marked as such by the hand of their creator, and their people celebrated for an entire week when the princes' runes appeared. It had been two generations since the line of Durin was blessed with such a binding. Thrór himself was the last to bear a name upon his wrist and his great-grandchildren's connection, their ashânumahâl, is seen as a sign that the Sigin-tarâg's long exile will soon be coming to an end.

The princes' bond is considered a good omen even though karrushamrâb do not always bring luck to the dwarves who carry them. Sometimes they lead to sorrow and amongst the Sigin-tarâg, many believe that Thrór's insanity was caused by his failure to find the dwarrowdam whose name was written on his skin. For while the king had married and sired Thráin before the birth of his amrâbulnas, his need drove him to distraction once those runes appeared.

Indeed, if Thrór's queen had not passed on five years prior, she would have stepped down from her position because the ashânumahâl trumps all other vows. Dwarves may marry as they wish while their wrists lack karrushamrâb but to refuse the name that Mahal gives them is a sin by their traditions and a crime by law. The penalty for infidelity is always death when amrâbulnâs are involved.

However, while Thrór's runes only brought him sorrow, the Sigin-tarâg believe that his descendants will find happiness instead. Fíli and Kíli must be living proof of Mahal’s favor; after all, the princes bear each other's names rather than some stranger's and to find their amrâbulnas so young is the greatest gift that any dwarf could want.

There will be no madness in either prince’s future; Fíli will rule long and wisely with Kíli at his side. The lack of children is a pity but dwarven succession often takes a crooked path when Mahal is involved and this would hardly be the first time that a cousin took the crown.

The ashânumahâl cannot be denied and everyone assumes that the princes are happy with their lot in life. The Sigin-tarâg expect Fíli and Kíli to wed each other as soon as they're old enough – with amrâbulnâs the wedding is little more than a formality and the excuse for a grand party, one that Dís started planning as soon as her younger son was born. But no matter how deeply Fíli and Kíli love each other, the thought of getting married in the future just leaves them cold inside.

For years the princes wonder if there is something wrong with their ashânumahâl. Maybe their bond is broken or maybe they're just freaks. Fíli and Kíli should be content with their amrâbulnas, with the love that Mahal gave them. But no matter how hard they try, Fíli and Kíli simply aren't and when Fíli kisses his brother one morning – one last desperate attempt to feel what he's supposed to – the younger dwarf bursts into tears.

This isn't right. Both of the princes know it. The sense of wrongness goes much deeper than Kíli and Fíli's lack of physical attraction. There is a longing branded on their souls, an aching loneliness that they do not understand. They cannot explain it; they just feel it in their bones.

So Fíli and Kíli play the roles assigned to them for lack of other options, watching other couples with desperate jealousy. Those without karrushamrâb are free to follow wherever their hearts lead them and other amrâbulnâs do not seem to share the princes' discontent.

Soon the brothers grow to hate the runes that bind their future, though neither can truly imagine giving their ashânumahâl up. Mahal's gift is more than pretty writing; the ashânumahâl connects Fíli and Kíli's hearts together, allowing the princes to feel each other's emotions and know that, no matter what, they will never be alone. But sometimes the pair still feels as though the whole world is ranged against them and they are too ashamed of their failure to be happy to ask their kinsfolk for advice.

Kíli and Fíli believe that they are broken until Kíli's twenty-seventh year. Just after dawn one morning, the princes are woken by a strange warmth upon their skin. They throw off their blankets and watch in awe as _Bilbo Baggins_ appears in shining Westron script around their ankles and in this instant, all their worries disappear. Fíli and Kíli are not damaged; they are just a trinity.

The two dwarves leap out of bed, dressing quickly and then running into the kitchen to tell their mother the good news. Fíli and Kíli show Dís the name that appeared on both their ankles, expecting her to share in their excitement. However, the dwarrowdam reacts with shocked dismay instead of the joy her sons expected and a chill of foreboding runs down Fíli's spine when he sees the sorrow in her eyes.

“Don’t you understand, mum?” Kíli asks plaintively. “This is wonderful. As soon as we find our amrâbulnas, we will finally be complete.”

His expression is so hopeful that Dís almost cannot bear to disappoint him and yet she must do exactly that. Better a brief sorrow now than for Fíli and Kíli to discover the truth after years of searching and so the dwarrowdam reaches out to take her children's hands.

“My sons. My dear sons, I am afraid the situation is not as simple as you think,” Dís tells the princes softly. “I know you want to find this Bilbo, but your new karrash are lies. Only the runes upon your wrists came from Mahal because no dwarrow ever has more than one amrâbulnas. All other marks are tricks from Melkor or his brethren and I would not see you pay the price of infidelity. It would break my brother’s heart to kill you, but a king’s first duty is always to the law. So put Bilbo Baggins from your minds and do not try to find him; that path leads to death and ruin for our family.”

 

“But... that makes no sense. Why would Melkor give us false ashânumahâl?” Fíli asks, wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders. The dwarf can feel Kíli's distress as strongly as his own and it has always been his job to make things right. “How can one karashumrâb be better than another? We are supposed to be a trinity – we _are_ – so why can't Uncle Thorin just change the law for us?”

“Things are not that easy, child,” Dís replies with a sad smile. “My brother may be the rightful King Under the Mountain but that doesn't give him the ability to rewrite our laws at whim. Not when the Sigin-tarâg are scattered and all we have is our traditions left to keep us strong. Perhaps if our exile were over and Thorin reigned in Azsâlul'abad once more; perhaps then things would be different, but you would still need to earn the boon you seek. The laws that govern the ashânumahâl were written by Durin III, whose own false karrash betrayed our kin to Melkor's armies, and only a great hero may override a king. So forget this Bilbo Baggins, children. Forget this foolish dream.”

Dís has always been a pragmatic sort of person; she married her husband for his skill and status, not for any great romantic feeling, and while she loves her children, the survival of her family is the most important thing.

So the dwarrowdam opens one of the kitchen drawers and pulls out a piece of linen, cutting it in half and handing the pieces to her sons. “Cover up your false karrash. Cover them up and never show those marks to anyone. We are lucky that our kin do not tend to flaunt our skin in public; this will make it easier for you to hide your shame. But you must promise me that you will never seek out Bilbo Baggins, not while being with him is forbidden by the law.”

“No! No, I won't!” Kíli protests fiercely. “The law can't tell us which of our bonds are valid! The law can't tell us what to feel! Bilbo's name is a true karashumrâb, I am sure of it!”

“He is right, mother,” Fíli adds more quietly. “I don't know what happened with Durin III but there must be some mistake. This bond feels real to me.”

“And that's what makes it dangerous,” Dís retorts. “You are young yet. You do not understand the world's true cruelty. So believe me when I say that many stories are not granted happy endings and while some of our kinsmen share in your delusion, the law is still the law. Those with false karrash know better than to speak of them and you must follow their example. For you are the princes of the Sigin-tarâg. You have a duty to our people and you cannot run off to chase some madcap dream. So promise me that you will not look for Bilbo. Promise me this or I will tell my brother of your karrash and beg him to lock you up this instant. I would rather see you safe and miserable than dead for infidelity.”

Their mother is serious, the princes can tell, and once Dís has made up her mind, there's no point in arguing. So Fíli and Kíli take the strips of cloth and wrap them around their ankles, trying not to cry as Bilbo's name disappears. Then the princes promise their mother that they will not go looking for their amrâbulnas, no matter how badly they want to see his face.

However, even as the pair swears this oath to the dwarrowdam, they make another promise to themselves. Fíli and Kíli promise each other that they won’t give up on Bilbo, not when both dwarves are certain that their bonds with him are real. The princes can’t give up when they finally know how to make their hearts stop aching constantly.

After all, Fíli and Kíli may have promised not to search for Bilbo, but they never promised not to travel and surely the Valar will grant them grace in this. Bilbo is theirs; the ashânumahâl calls so strongly that he must be, and once fate leads the princes to their amrâbulnas, everything else is bound to work out somehow. Law or no law, the khazâd cannot be as cruel as their mother claimed.

So Fíli and Kíli go back to their rooms and make a plan. A simple plan, really; from then on, whenever Thorin leaves the Blue Mountains for any reason, the princes ask to come along. The brothers beg and plead until their uncle finally gives in and even Dís cannot argue with her king.

Thus Fíli and Kíli begin to travel around the Westlands, standing by Thorin when he meets his fellow dwarf lords or goes to a distant market with metalwork to sell. The princes' uncle teaches them diplomacy and forging, orienteering, bargaining and how to bite their tongues. The latter comes in handy when Fíli and Kíli find themselves working long hours in human smithies and when the trio hires on with merchant caravans, the brothers always sure that this next trip will be the one.

All Fíli and Kíli want is a glimpse of Bilbo, a single glimpse to prove that their amrâbulnas is out there. He could be another dwarf or a man or even an elf and it wouldn't matter – indeed, a dwarf seems unlikely considering their karrash. But whoever Bilbo is, the princes know he will be perfect because he will be theirs.

Someday they will ride into a town and see their amrâbulnas standing in the sunshine, Bilbo looking up in recognition when they call his name. Or perhaps Kíli and Fíli will simply watch him from a distance, protecting their heart as best they can until they can court him openly.

Neither prince has found a loophole in the laws that bind ashânumahâl; their research has only proven that their mother spoke the truth and while they've thought of trying to find allies, Fíli and Kíli have no way of knowing which dwarves share their pain. But that doesn't mean their cause is hopeless. If Mahal gave them Bilbo then he must agree that his children's rules are wrong and with his blessing, Fíli and Kíli are sure that they can do anything. It's only a matter of time until their lives change for the better and this thought keeps the princes going as they crisscross Middle Earth.

The brothers travel from the Blue Mountains to the northern plains, from the scattered towns of men to the Western settlements of Rohan, and they even pass through the outskirts of the Shire once or twice. However, while both princes sometimes feel their bond with Bilbo flutter, the sensation is too weak to guide them and it always fades again.

Fíli and Kíli discover beauty, wonder, and a fair bit of danger, but they can't find Bilbo Baggins anywhere.

After years of this, of searching without searching, of holding to their oath on a technicality, Kíli and Fíli start to wonder if their mother could be right after all. Maybe Melkor truly was the force behind their markings and what their clan saw as a good omen was only a prelude to cruelty. Or maybe Mahal simply matches dwarven hearts at random and the princes were unlucky in their draw.

In truth, it doesn't matter. Whether blessed or cursed, Fíli and Kíli are bound by the laws of the khazâd and there is no room for leeway in dwarvish punishments. Even if they did stumble on their amrâbulnas in some tiny village, the brothers couldn't court him and that would be the sharpest cut of all. To meet Bilbo and know that they could never touch him would only lead to further heartbreak and the princes have already cried enough.

It is Fíli who finally admits the truth. He's always been the braver of the two, a solid core of strength to balance Kíli's flightier nature, and he's the one who says they have to stop.

“We cannot go on like this, resting our hopes on each new journey just to have them dashed. If we are to love Bilbo as we are meant to then we must first change Durin's law,” the older prince whispers, pulling Kíli into his arms when his brother starts to sob. “I want to love both of you openly; I want to scream that we're a three-bond to the world and have our kindred understand. But if that's going to happen then first we must be heroes. We must become the sort of heroes whose deeds are glorified in song.”

“And how are we supposed to do that while guarding caravans from bandits and chasing drunks from market stalls?” Kíli asks brokenly. “This is not an age of heroes, Fíli. There are no great enemies to conquer and the courage that we've shown is only what Thorin expects from warriors of his blood. What could we possibly do to impress our uncle now?”

“That's actually the simple part,” Fíli tells his brother, sending as much certainty as he can through the bond they share. “We are going to help Thorin reclaim Azsâlul'abad. We're going to help him bring our people home.”

“Uncle is going to take back the Lonely Mountain?”

“Of course he is. Remember what mother said when we first told her about Bilbo? Thorin needs to reclaim his throne in order to legitimize his kingship and you know he'll never be able to rest until he's earned his rightful place again. Someday our uncle will call for volunteers to help take back Thrór's kingdom and we must be ready to battle at his side. For that will be a journey worthy of the bards.”

“All right, Fí. You know I'm not good at being patient but I'll try. For you and Bilbo, I'll become the best damn warrior that Thorin has ever seen and I promise I'll be ready when our day arrives.”

So Fíli and Kíli throw themselves into their training with new fervor, practicing with swords and axes daily and studying the accounts of dwarrows who fought dragons in the past. They focus on ranged weapons, anything that might help them kill Smaug the Golden, and their abilities increase by leaps and bounds. Indeed, Kíli finds a previously unknown knack for archery while his brother grows skilled with throwing knives and the other Sigin-tarâg soon learn not to challenge them on either range or training ground.

The princes feel a little better with this new plan and purpose, though that doesn't mean their lives are suddenly bright mithril through and through. Kíli wasn't lying when he said that he was bad at waiting and while the dwarves still travel sometimes, it's not the same without the hope of finding Bilbo somewhere along the way.

To make matters worse, as soon as Fíli comes of age, the Sigin-tarâg start asking the princes how soon until they plan to marry and the other dwarves don't understand why the answer isn't now. Even Dís refuses to support Fíli and Kíli in their denials, telling her sons to accept the inevitable when they ask their mother for her help.

“You will have to marry each other eventually; it might as well be now,” the dwarrowdam says, her words all the more painful because she knows the truth. “Refusing to marry will not allow you to court Bilbo if you find him; infidelity is infidelity and you are amrâbulnâs even if you have not spoken vows. Perhaps if you were commoners, you would be able to live together in the shadows, but you are heirs of Durin and you have no such luxury.”

She will not bend and neither will her children, this endless standoff enough to drive the princes mad. Indeed, the questions only grow more pointed with every year that passes and eventually some of the nobility begin to whisper of Thrór's madness, watching Fíli and Kíli with suspicion in their eyes.

Maybe their stubbornness is foolish when getting married truly wouldn't change their situation. But it feels like giving up on Bilbo, like giving up on any chance of future happiness and there are days when Kíli dreams of running away from everything. Both dwarves dream of running, their frustrations feeding off each other even as their duty holds them fast.

Truthfully, Fíli and Kíli are close to cracking when their uncle finally returns to the Blue Mountains and makes an announcement that changes everything. Because Thorin met a wizard, a wizard who convinced him that his time had come at last. It is time for the Sigin-tarâg to reclaim the Lonely Mountain and the dwarf lord asks his kin for volunteers.

Thorin's sister-sons are the first in line to join him; at least they want to be. But Kíli is still three years shy of his majority and he cannot volunteer. As silly as it sounds, he cannot offer his blade in service without the permission of his mother and so the princes go to Dís to plead their case.

However, despite the eloquence of their entreaty, “Certainly not!” is the dwarrowdam's reply.

“I do not care how much you've trained; this quest is much too dangerous. You have never tested your skills against anything but bandits and you are not even old enough to make this choice yourself. Smaug destroyed Azsâlul'abad in hours, he would slaughter you in minutes and I cannot let my children run off to die like that.”

“Mother, we are not dwarrowlings. We will always be your sons, but we are no longer yours to guard. For Mahal's sake, Kíli will come of age in less than three years and you know that we can beat any of Thorin's warriors in a fight. How can we sit this battle out when our uncle is trying to restore our people’s honor and we have the skill to help?”

Fíli's arguments are reasonable but Dís will not be swayed by logic. She has seen far too much dwarven blood spilled for stone and glory and she does not wish to be the last Durin left alive. The more her eldest argues, the more stubborn her denials and eventually Kíli cannot stay silent anymore.

“Mother, _please!_ You have to help us. This is our only chance to change the l-”

Fíli slams a hand across Kíli's mouth, trying to cut his brother off before he can give the game away. But it's already too late. Their mother is not an idiot and Kíli made it obvious.

“Change the law. Is that what you mean?” Dís asks, narrowing her eyes. “I told you to stop dreaming. You promised to stop dreaming of things that cannot be. Bilbo is not your amrâbulnas, no matter what you feel. Someone whom you've never met cannot be worth your futures and the Valar are all out of miracles. Be happy with each other and put this madness from your mind.”

“We _can't_!” Fíli shouts, his voice echoing loudly off the stone. For a moment there is silence and then the dwarf slumps down to the floor. Kíli follows him, wrapping his arms around his brother and hugging him tightly as he murmurs once again, “We can't.”

“Don't you understand, mother?” Kíli asks quietly. “You are asking us to suffer for the remainder of our lives. Even if we never left these mountains; even if we took a knife and sliced our karrash right off our skin, it would not make a difference. You keep telling us that Bilbo cannot be our amrâbulnas because some ancient king decreed it, but we both know the law is wrong.”

“Without Bilbo, we are broken,” Fíli whispers when the younger prince falls silent. “Without him you might as well just let us die right now.”

His voice is filled with conviction and despair in equal measure and while Dís still does not understand the need that drives her children, she finally listens when they speak. The dwarrowdam had hoped that denying Bilbo's existence would allow Fíli and Kíli to be happy – to be content with their restrictions – but it seems that she has only added to their misery instead.

“If I cannot sway you from this course, then I guess you have my blessing,” Dís replies wearily. “But in return I ask that you do one thing for me.”

She looks down at her sons and for a moment, all she can see is the fragile babies that she brought into the world. They were so helpless, so trusting, and Dís doesn't know where those dwarrowlings have gone. Time has slipped like ashes through her fingers; her sons are leaving and she doesn't know if they will ever make it back. Hence her singular demand.

“If you are determined to join my brother's quest, then I would first see you wed,” Dís tells her children firmly, forestalling their protests with a glance. “You know that being married will not affect your search for Bilbo and our people need the hope that your ashânumahâl represents. Let them have their celebration; one last celebration in case this journey ends with funerals instead of victory. Give me this, my children. Give me this memory and I will give your foolishness my blessing in return.”

Fíli and Kíli still do not want to marry without Bilbo at their side. But what else can they do when this is their only chance? Their amrâbulnas will forgive them. He has to forgive them because they are fighting for a future where they can be together and what is a wedding next to that?

So the princes agree to Dís' bargain despite their reservations and then go to tell their uncle that they'll join his company. Thorin accepts their service gratefully, almost desperately, and his sister-sons are surprised to learn that they are the first to join his cause.

Indeed, the Sigin-tarâg seem more excited about Fíli and Kíli's marriage than about their coming journey and their uncle only receives ten other volunteers. Even with good omens and a wizard on their side, few dwarves want to risk their lives against the dragon and the princes might have been worried about their chances if they’d had any time to think.

As it is, Fíli and Kíli barely have time enough to pack because the announcement of their wedding makes their kindred go insane. Every dwarf in Ered Luin suddenly wants to offer them advice on marriage and after the third time some old dwarrowdam corners the princes in the market, Fíli and Kíli start shopping in disguise. Unfortunately, escaping their mother is much harder and it’s all the pair can do to keep from drowning as Dís plans out their wedding celebration, the grandest celebration that the Blue Mountains have ever seen.

The dwarrowdam does not ask for her sons’ opinions because they do not matter. This wedding is for Dís and for their people, not for the princes, and the quiet ceremony that Fíli and Kíli would have preferred has been sacrificed on the altar of political maneuvering.

Indeed, the guest list reads like a list of the richest and most important dwarves in Ered Luin, Kíli and Fíli pledging their love for each other in front of far too many strangers instead of friends and family. The ceremony is long and boring – Thorin gives a speech about blood and honor, one full of none-too-subtle digs at the other warriors' cowardice. The dwarf lord does include some nice passages about love and destiny in-between his bursts of fury, every snarl of “faithless kin who will not join me” balanced with a smile at the princes. Thorin truly is happy for his sister-sons, his thoughts are just focused on Azsâlul'abad.

Of course, Fíli and Kíli can hardly blame their uncle for his inattention when they share it, the elder dwarf forced to nudge his brother when it's finally time to speak their vows. Kíli had been trying to remember where he left his lucky grindstone instead of watching for his cue. However, once reminded, Kíli speaks his piece without faltering, only his brother knowing how sour the words taste inside his mouth.

“Next time we'll do this right,” Fíli whispers softly when the younger prince has finished, too low for anyone else to hear.

“I take Kíli, son of Hothor, son of Halthi, as my husband before the eyes of Mahal, Kaminzabdûna, and our kin,” the dwarf continues louder, looking out across their gathered clan. “I will ensure that his forges never lack for fire and that his weapons never dull; I will fight at his side whenever danger threatens and guard the living stone in which we make our home. He is my amrâbulnas; he and I are bound by love and destiny and we shall never be apart.”

Fíli should have ended this speech with a bit about fidelity, swearing that he would find solace in no other touch but Kíli's for the remainder of their days. But the prince can’t bring himself to say it, not when the thought of denying Bilbo makes his heart curl up with shame.

So he leans in to kiss the archer instead, knowing that their audience will simply think him too impatient to wait any longer. Kissing Kíli feels just as wrong now as it did the first time but no one notices their discomfort with the roles they're forced to play.

Indeed, the princes receive a wave of thunderous applause, the roar growing louder when they turn and raise their hands. The dwarves of Ered Luin send the new couple off to their wedding chamber with a chorus of drunken cheers – the drinking started early and will continue late – their well-meaning congratulations setting the brothers' teeth on edge. Fíli and Kíli are relieved when they don't have to keep up their facade any longer, the smiles dropping off their faces as soon as they're alone.

Their uncle will be leaving in the morning, heading north to try to convince the other dwarf lords to pledge their axes to his cause. The princes would like to join him, but newlyweds are expected to remain within their chambers for at least a day of consummation before they can rejoin the clan again.

Fíli and Kíli will leave the following morning instead – the soonest that their mother will allow it – and then make their slow way toward the Shire after that. They aren't due to meet Thorin and the rest of their companions for another week but they don't want to stay in the Blue Mountains any longer than they have to and this will give them some time to enjoy themselves before the real journey starts. Fíli and Kíli could use some space to breathe.

Honestly, they're exhausted, too exhausted to do anything but sleep even if they were a normal couple. So the princes just trade weary smiles and start to remove their wedding finery, hanging up their clothing and then climbing into bed. Kíli and Fíli wrap their arms around each other tightly, trying to ignore the empty space where Bilbo should have been.

This is not how the dwarves had hoped to spend their wedding night; they had dreamed of far brighter days than this. But even though their sleep is fitful, the next day passes quickly. The princes spend hours in games and talk and last minute planning, only going to sleep once they've packed and packed again. Everything has to be perfect and when Kíli wakes at dawn on the day of their departure, there is hope blooming in his heart for the first time in many years.

 _We're finally going to do it,_ the archer thinks, smiling at his brother who's still snoring on the bed. _We'll finally have a chance to win our uncle's favor and ask him to change the law._

The long years of loneliness seem a distant thing this morning as future possibilities stretch out before Kíli in a bright and shining road. The prince is certain that he and Fíli will prove themselves heroes over the course of their journey to reclaim the Lonely Mountain and in so doing, they will change everything. Fíli and Kíli will earn the right to seek out Bilbo Baggins in whatever corner of the world he has been hiding and court him as the last piece of their trinity deserves.

So the younger dwarf shoves his brother awake, meeting Fíli's glare with a slightly manic grin. “Wake up, Fíli! It's time to start our journey and you can't be lagging now! We're off to kill a dragon and win our fair maiden's hand in marriage like the stories that mother always used to tell.”

“I'm pretty sure that Bilbo's not a maiden, brother,” Fíli grumbles back, though he can't keep from smiling. Kíli's excitement glows with warmth inside his heart, an effervescent joy that he hasn't felt in far too long.

The swell of emotion carries the elder prince to his feet, where he promptly turns around and tackles his brother back to the bed again. This impromptu wrestling match is streaked with laughter, Kíli grinning down at Fíli when he finally pins him, and the older dwarf knows that he would fight much worse than Smaug to keep the archer smiling. Fíli would fight Melkor himself to create a world where he and his brother can acknowledge both of their amrâbulnâs openly.

“Come on, Kíli. Let's go eat breakfast,” Fíli says, ruffling the archer's hair. “We have a long road ahead of us if we mean to change the world.”

The princes set out from Ered Luin an hour later, only their mother and their cousin Gimli waiting at the gate to say farewell. Fíli and Kíli promise to come back as heroes and Dís pretends that she believes them, though the look in her eyes gives lie to the smile on her face. The dwarrowdam hugs her children tightly and then she lets them go because that is the bargain that they made.

 _Win or lose, things are going to be different,_ Dís thinks as she watches the princes ride away. She wants Fíli and Kíli to succeed; how can she not when the alternative is either death or misery? But at the same time she is frightened.

The dwarrowdam was born a princess and saw her people fall to ruin. She watched her brothers, her father, and her husband march into battle and only one of those dwarrows ever made it home again. Her family was shattered by Azanulbizar, her heart grief-stricken as so many others were. The only thing that kept the Sigin-tarâg together through their darkest days was the power of tradition and amrâbulnâs are part of what makes khazâd khazâd instead of the petty dwarves of old.

Dís knows that Kíli and Fíli believe that Bilbo's name came from Mahal, but the dwarrowdam doesn't know if they are right. She doesn't know if acknowledging such karrash will make her people stronger or if the Sigin-tarâg will crumble from within.

So Dís is afraid. She is afraid of what will happen if Fíli and Kíli manage to change this foundation of their people's culture and she is afraid of what will happen if they don't. But her sons are old enough to make their own decisions. Whatever trials are to come, the princes must face them without their mother's help.

 _Please watch over them. Please keep my children safe._ Dís sends this one heartfelt prayer to Mahal and then pats Gimli on the shoulder as she turns away. She does not need to watch Fíli and Kíli disappear into the distance – it will not make this better – and her duties will not wait.

If the princes had looked back, they would have seen their mother vanish into the tunnels, leaving only Gimli still waving a farewell. Perhaps the sight would have hurt the dwarves, reminded them of the rift within their family that bears Bilbo Baggins' name. But even though Fíli and Kíli would have regretted Dís' sorrow, they would not have faltered and, indeed, her sons do not look back at all.

The Blue Mountains have come to represent too many years of loneliness, too many years of pain. Those caves and caverns were as much a prison as a shelter to the princes and if given the choice, Fíli and Kíli will not be coming back again. Not without their Bilbo anyway.

Indeed, the archer hasn't been this excited since the first time that he and Fíli left Ered Luin to travel at their uncle's side. Kíli feels like that young dwarf again, the one who was certain their amrâbulnas was waiting just around the corner and would soon make their trio whole. No more pain. No more sorrow. No more gaping emptiness carved within their souls. Things are going to be different after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
>  _amrâbulnas/amrâbulnâs_ – soulmate / soulmates  
>  _ashânumahâl_ – the bond/connection between soulmates  
>  _karashumrâb/ karrushamrâb_ \- soul mark / soul marks (in this fic, marks are always the name of the person's soulmate, though the language varies)  
>  _karash / karrash_ \- mark / marks (primarily used for the soul marks that are not officially recognized by dwarven law)  
>  _the Sigin-tarâg_ – Thorin's clan, the Long Beards, sometimes all of Durin's Folk because I am both inconsistent and unclear on canonical dwarvish politics.  
>  _Azsâlul'abad_ – Erebor  
>  _Azanulbizar_ \- the battle where Thrór dies and Azog loses his arm.  
>  _Mahal_ \- Aulë  
>  _Kaminzabdûna_ \- Yavanna  
>  _Khazâd_ \- Dwarves  
>  _Ered Luin_ \- the Blue Mountains (this is actually elvish, not dwarvish, but whatever)


	2. Nu'

Kíli does not find it odd that his heart grows lighter with each day of travel, the princes' slow journey toward Hobbiton ringing with his laughter and excited chattering. The world seems new and fresh again and while Fíli's smile is often tinged with exasperation, the archer knows that his brother shares his happiness. The princes are amrâbulnâs after all; Fíli couldn't hide the spark of joy within his heart even if he wanted to.

Both dwarves are looking forward to this journey and they are still young enough not to worry about the dangers that they may face along the way. Fíli and Kíli have faith in their training and in each other; the princes have to believe or give up hope entirely.

This is where they're meant to be. This is the dwarves' one chance to alter their destiny and it seems only natural that the Valar's gift should reflect the joy inside their hearts. Indeed, the song of their ashânumahâl grows louder with every league they travel and by the time the princes ride into Hobbiton, it is almost deafening.

A decade ago, the brothers would have taken this as a sign that Bilbo Baggins was nearby, but they think nothing of it now. If their amrâbulnas lived so near to the Blue Mountains then the princes would have found him long ago. Fíli and Kíli do not know that hobbits never discuss their kin with strangers and while their travels sometimes led them to the Shire, no dwarven caravan ever passed through Hobbiton.

So the princes are not expecting anything when they arrive at their destination. They are simply looking forward to a hot meal with their companions and the chance to sleep in a real bed before heading back out onto the road.

According to their uncle's instructions, Fíli and Kíli are supposed to meet the rest of their companions at the house of Thorin's burglar. Or rather, Gandalf's burglar, and the princes meander their way through Hobbiton until they see the wizard’s mark shining from a nearby hill. This glowing rune is etched into the door of a hobbit hole and if Fíli and Kíli still had any doubt about their destination, the ponies tied to the garden fence would have put those doubts to rest. So the princes dismount, tying up their ponies next to the others before opening the gate and climbing up the stairs. Then they knock on the door of the hobbit hole and wait for their host to let them in.

“What do you think our burglar will be like?” Kíli muses to his brother. “And do you think Thorin managed to get any other dwarves to come along? As much as I like Dwalin and the others, a few more axes wouldn't go amiss... Honestly, what is taking so long? I'm getting hungry here.”

Fíli opens his mouth to reply, but the door swings open before he can say anything. Their host is standing in the doorway and the princes fall silent as their world suddenly changes irrevocably.

Because it's _him_. This hobbit is their Bilbo and the shock of recognition echoes through the ashânumahâl as the tugging on their hearts is replaced with certainty. Fíli and Kíli don't need an introduction to know that this is Bilbo Baggins and the pair smiles widely as they greet their amrâbulnas with their most polished courtly bows.

“Fíli and Kíli. At your service,” the princes announce in unison, expecting their hobbit to recognize the names. But Bilbo does not look at them with the same joy of recognition. The hobbit treats them like total strangers; he tries to turn them away without an ounce of hesitation and that makes no sense at all.

It never occurred to either Fíli or Kíli that their amrâbulnas might not be waiting for them, that he might be content without the heart they share. Indeed, such a thing is inconceivable and yet the princes cannot deny the truth before their eyes.

Fíli and Kíli must practically force the door before Bilbo lets them inside his smial and even then, he clearly wishes they were gone. He almost snarls at Kíli when the archer starts to wipe his boots; the prince was _trying_ not to leave muddy footprints on the carpet but apparently Bilbo doesn't think his efforts good enough. The dwarves can hear the hobbit muttering about uninvited visitors and people without manners even as he collects their weapons and tosses them in a pile by the door.

But even though that is not how one treats good dwarvish steel, the brothers still want Bilbo to smile at them. Even in a scowling temper, the hobbit is the most gorgeous thing that Fíli and Kíli have ever seen and all they want is to take him in their arms. They want to hold their amrâbulnas and never let him go but Bilbo would probably just stab them if they tried.

The brothers trail after their hobbit as he leads them deeper into his home, logic warring with the need beneath their skin. The ashânumahâl demands contact now that Fíli and Kíli have found their final piece and even with the threat of stabbing, it takes all the princes' self-control to keep their hands from reaching out.

“He doesn't know us. How can he not know us?!” Kíli whispers to his brother, the thought of their amrâbulnas so close and yet unreachable almost more than he can take. This is worse than all their years of pining ever were.

Because it hurts. It literally hurts for the archer not to touch Bilbo and he knows that Fíli feels the same. The hobbit should be in their arms already, not glancing back at the princes with suspicion in his eyes. He seems to think that they're going to steal the silverware if he looks away too long.

And yet, that's just a guess. Kíli doesn't know what Bilbo's thinking – he cannot feel the hobbit's emotions – and this realization makes panic rise up in his chest. The prince's knees threaten to give out and it's all he can do to keep walking after the hobbit now.

This is not what the ashânumahâl is supposed to feel like; Fíli has always been a warm spark inside him, a kindled flame that roars and crackles with his moods. In comparison, Bilbo is little more than ash and embers. Kíli can only feel the faintest flicker of irritation from the hobbit when he concentrates and even that could just be his imagination. While he's certain that Bilbo is his amrâbulnas, the prince feels as though he's trying to track the hobbit through a fog.

However, even as Kíli teeters on the edge of despair, Fíli throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders. He wraps the archer in love and support, soothing his sorrow before the younger prince's panic can send both of them spiraling.

“Don’t give up, little brother,” Fíli murmurs, keeping his voice low so that Bilbo cannot hear him. The hobbit is oblivious to the princes' distress, though he does seem to have remembered his duties as a host and has started pointing out important features of his home as the trio walks along.

“The washroom is there and that hall is private,” Bilbo says, waving toward each room in turn. “Your companions are in the dining room, which is just through this door right here.”

The hobbit walks toward another doorway as Fíli continues whispering to his brother, trying to get Kíli under control before Bilbo looks back again. The archer's expression is too raw to pass more than a cursory inspection and concentrating on his brother is the only thing keeping Fíli on his feet right now.

“Bilbo may not know us now but that doesn't mean Mahal has chosen falsely,” the older prince says with as much conviction as he can muster. He has to believe the words or Kíli will know that he is lying instantly. “Perhaps other races simply do not feel the ashânumahâl as strongly as we do. The plan has not changed. If we must earn the love of our amrâbulnas, then will we court him, but first we must prove our worth as heroes before this quest is done. You must have patience, Kíli; we cannot lose heart now.”

“I don't want to be patient,” the archer hisses back. “We have been waiting for far too long already and Bilbo is right there. Maybe he will know us if we simply tell him. Maybe he's just blocking us unconsciously somehow.”

Kíli reaches out to grab Bilbo’s arm, either to plead their case or kiss him, the archer's not quite sure. However, before his hand touches the hobbit’s shoulder, Fíli yanks him back. He holds his brother still as Bilbo disappears into the dining room, still oblivious to his guests' distress.

“Kíli, stop! We can't!” the older prince hisses when Kíli keeps trying to get free, the words stopping his brother in his tracks.

Fíli has always been the sensible one, the one who thinks about the consequences of their actions, and Kíli knows better than to argue with that tone. When his older brother talks like that, his words are important and this is no exception to the rule. Once the archer actually stops to listen, he can hear familiar voices arguing in the next room and this is not a conversation that should be overheard. Not even the princes' rank would save them if they tried to court the hobbit now.

Fíli and Kíli cannot risk telling Bilbo about their bond while there are other dwarves around; the hobbit might let something slip and even the intent of courtship could get the trio killed. While the princes are willing to risk their own lives for the chance to change their future, they won’t threaten Bilbo's without cause.

“Fuck. I hate it when you're right,” Kíli says with a sigh. “That sounds like Balin and Dwalin and there's no way we can talk to Bilbo with those two around. Dwalin and Ori are too disgustingly happy in their ashânumahâl to ever understand and Balin... Balin just loves the fucking law.”

“I hate it too, Kí. You know that,” Fíli murmurs, pulling his brother into a proper hug. Kíli returns the embrace tightly, resting his forehead on the older prince's shoulder as he tries not to sob.

“How are we gonna do this, Fí?” the archer asks quietly. “Bilbo is supposed to be our burglar but I don't know if I could stand to have him close for months on end. I already want to touch him so much my fingers hurt.”

“I know, little brother. I know. But maybe Bilbo won't choose to come along. Given our reception so far, I highly doubt that he's signed Thorin's contract. Maybe he'll stay here where it is safe and at least we know where to find our hobbit now,” the older prince tells Kíli. His words are slim comfort – truthfully Fíli thinks that leaving their amrâbulnas will probably be just as painful as having him close by – but it's something for the archer to hold onto and that's enough for now.

A loud knock on the door makes Fíli and Kíli separate, Bilbo stomping past the dwarves to answer it. The princes follow their amrâbulnas – partially from curiosity and partially because they're helpless to do otherwise.

So the pair is standing behind Bilbo when he yanks his front door open with a shout, “Who the bloody hell is knocking now?”

“Hello, Bilbo,” a tall old man says cheerfully as a pile of dwarves eight high is suddenly falling through the door. Fíli heard that Thorin's wizard had an odd sense of humor but this is just ridiculous and the prince yanks his hobbit out of danger by the back of his waistcoat, the dwarves who would have hit him landing on the floor.

“Thank you,” Bilbo murmurs, looking up at Fíli in surprise. Simple words but the prince finds himself blushing anyway. Because for the first time tonight, his amrâbulnas is looking at him without a hint of irritation in his eyes. 

In fact, Fíli is almost certain that he feels a flicker of admiration from the hobbit before his senses dim again. He definitely isn't feeling anything positive as Bilbo rounds on the wizard who just stepped through his door.

“What is going on here? What part of 'I'm not interested' did you fail to understand?” the hobbit asks and the prince isn't sure whether he's pleased or disappointed by this proof that he was right. Their amrâbulnas has no intention of being Thorin's burglar.

Which means that Fíli and Kíli have one night to make an impression on their hobbit, one night to ensure that Bilbo still remembers them several months from now.

So the princes step forward to help their companions off the floor, making sure the other dwarves hang up their weapons and wipe their feet before Bilbo can complain. Only Ori manages to slip past the brothers and the scribe only carries a few daggers anyway. 

Indeed, Fíli and Kíli probably couldn't have stopped Ori, not when Dwalin was waiting for his husband in the hall. The two dwarves fall into each other's arms as though they've been apart for months instead of days, holding each other tightly despite their audience. Fíli is actually surprised that Ori traveled with his brothers rather than the warrior – it's rare for amrâbulnâs to separate for any reason – but perhaps Dwalin had to make a dangerous detour that he didn't want his husband on.

“Not in public, little brother,” Nori says a little sharply as he walks by the couple. “I know you're glad to see him but try to keep it in your pants.”

Dwalin stiffens at the words, taking a step back from Ori to glare at his brother-in-law. The warrior opens his mouth to say something cutting but Ori lays a hand upon his arm.

“Leave it alone, my dear. For me?” the scribe asks and Dwalin can only nod. He turns back to his husband while Nori stalks off into the dining room and Fíli is curious about the tension there. The prince doesn't know Ori's family very well but he never thought that anyone could actually dislike Dwalin. The warrior is actually a sweetheart underneath his tough exterior but maybe Nori is simply jealous of his brother since his own wrists are bare. Dori certainly doesn't seem to have an issue with Ori or his spouse.

 _And it's none of my business,_ Fíli tells himself as he turns back to his own brother. Kíli is watching Bilbo argue with the wizard Gandalf and he seems to be having a grand time of it judging by his grin.

“I like him, Fí. He's spunky,” the archer says.

“You'd like him anyway,” the older prince retorts.

Before Kíli can say anything else, Bilbo throws his hands up in the air and shouts, “Fine! I'll feed your bloody dwarves, you crazy wizard. But I'm still not joining you.”

The hobbit stalks back into the dining room, his scowl deepening when he discovers that his guests have started emptying his pantry dish by dish. Bilbo tries to corral the dwarves but they just ignore him so Fíli and Kíli step forward in his stead. 

“Listen up!” the princes shout, their voices echoing off the walls. “We're going to do this orderly!”

Although the other dwarves are surprised by Fíli and Kíli's interference, the pair quickly glares them into submission – they are their mother's children, after all. The brothers make sure that their companions do not empty Bilbo's pantry completely, leaving behind enough nonperishable items that their amrâbulnas need not go hungry if he doesn't come along. Fíli and Kíli also make sure that Bilbo has the chance to eat his dinner once the group sits down, guarding the hobbit's plate as fiercely as their own.

Indeed, the meal is quite pleasant as dwarvish dinners go and Bilbo seems grateful for their help. He even gives them both a smile and when everyone has finished, the princes cannot resist teasing their amrâbulnas a bit. Fíli and Kíli turn the cleanup into a song and dance production, one that just happens to show off their acrobatic skills.

The princes don't stop until every dish is shining and even Balin cracks a grin at the delight on Bilbo's face. The hobbit has finally warmed up to his uninvited guests and Fíli and Kíli are hoping for the chance to speak with him quite soon. 

However, their hopes are dashed when the leader of their company arrives. Thorin announces his presence with a firm knock, everyone trailing into the hallway to welcome him inside. Although, in truth, Fíli and Kíli would be perfectly happy to shove their uncle right back out the door again once he starts to talk.

“Is this the burglar you've found me, Gandalf?” the dwarf lord asks, looking Bilbo over with a sneer. “Tell me Master Baggins. Have you done much fighting?”

“Pardon me?” the hobbit replies, clearly taken aback by Thorin's question.

“Axe or sword? What's your weapon?” the princes' uncle clarifies.

“Well, I have some skill at Conkers, if you must know,” Bilbo retorts. “But I fail to see the relevance.”

“I thought as much,” Thorin snorts dismissively. “You look more like a grocer than a burglar to me.”

Most of the other dwarves laugh at their lord's joke but Kíli cannot take it. How can his uncle come into Bilbo's home and just insult him constantly?

“What's wrong with being a grocer?” the archer exclaims as the rest of his companions turn to stare at him in shock. Bilbo may not look like a warrior but that doesn't make him worthless and the dwarf lord shouldn't judge him for living peacefully. The hobbit hardly needs to be battle-hardened here in the Shire and Thorin would be lucky to have a home like this. Truthfully, the archer fell half in love with Bag End as soon as he walked across the threshold; it’s warm and cozy and full of comfort just like a house should be.

“Seriously, uncle. You may be our leader but there's no cause for being rude,” Kíli continues, crossing him arms over his chest. Fíli is shaking his head in bemusement but he isn't trying to stop his brother and the archer takes that as permission to go on. “Mother would box my ears if I talked to someone else like that.”

Thorin stares at his sister-son for a long moment, the tension almost tangible as the dwarf lord holds Kíli's gaze. But then the prince's uncle relaxes and everyone can breathe again.

“You are right, Kíli. That was rude,” Thorin says with a wry grin. “My apologies, Master Baggins. We are here for your skill not your appearance and perhaps Conkers is exactly what we need. It has been a long and frustrating journey and my manners are not what they should be. I thank you for hospitality and would appreciate some food to eat.”

“Oh, you're welcome,” Bilbo says, sounding a little stunned. “Your friends cleared out a good portion of my pantry but I'm sure I can manage that.”

With that everyone troops back into the dining room. The hobbit gives Thorin a bowl of soup and the dwarf lord explains the lateness of his arrival in-between each bite. 

“I spent more time arguing with envoys than I planned to, curse those cowards' names,” the dwarf snarls, jabbing his spoon into the air. “Envoys from all seven kingdoms came to say that none of them will help us, not even my cousin Dáin. They say our quest is folly and without the Arkenstone, I cannot command them to obey. But we will show them, won't we? My faithless kin are too afraid to heed the omens but I say our time is now.”

“You're going on a quest?” Bilbo asks from his place in the corner even as Thorin's companions mutter amongst themselves. Most of the dwarves were hoping for at least a little help, only Fíli and Kíli fully prepared to kill a dragon on their own. Somehow. With a bit of luck and a Vala's miracle. 

Indeed, the princes are more focused on their hobbit than any talk of strategy and at Bilbo's question, Fíli has to sigh.

“Honestly, Gandalf. Didn't you tell him anything?” the older prince says. “If he's supposed to be our burglar, he should know exactly what he'd be going up against.”

“Of course, of course,” the wizard says. “In fact, I have good news for you all.”

Gandalf pulls a piece of cloth from his robes with a flourish and of course Thorin managed to find a wizard with dramatic tendencies. Fíli and Kíli pay little attention to his explanation – there's a key, there's a door, that's all they really need to know. Instead, the princes watch Bilbo's face and their hobbit is growing paler with every word that Gandalf says.

“A dragon?” Bilbo squeaks. “You expect me to steal from a dragon?”

“Not without a proper contract,” Balin tells him, handing the paper over. However, the hobbit does not seem reassured. In fact, the fine print just seems to increase his worry and when Bofur starts talking about claws and teeth and death by incineration, Bilbo crumples to the floor in a dead faint.

“Useless,” Thorin mutters as Kíli and Fíli rush to their amrâbulnas. “You made a poor choice, Gandalf. I don't need this burglar.”

“He may surprise you, Thorin Oakenshield,” the wizard replies. Thorin opens his mouth to argue but Gandalf slams his hand upon the table, all the shadows in the room start flickering as his voice booms out, “ **If I say that Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he'll be!** ”

The entire room gapes at the wizard in shock; even Fíli and Kíli turn to stare at him from their position on the floor.

“Fine,” Thorin says finally. “The hobbit may join us if he chooses. But I will not force him and if he decides to stay, then we will not speak of this again. I do not need dead weight on this journey and I doubt Master Baggins here really wants to come along.”

Indeed, Bilbo rejects the dwarf lord's offer quite emphatically once he wakes up again. This is what Fíli and Kíli expected from the beginning and the princes do not blame their amrâbulnas for wishing to remain.

However, understanding Bilbo’s choices does not stop the pain. When the fire has died and the dwarves begin to leave Bag End, Fíli and Kíli lag behind the others. The princes find their gaze pulled inexorably toward Bilbo as the ashânumahâl screams inside their chests. Their amrâbulnas is sleeping peacefully in his armchair and it would be so easy just to touch him, to kiss his cheek and promise that they'll be back again. 

So Fíli and Kíli keep stumbling as they walk toward the door, every step forward pulled sideways in the air. The princes feel as though they're marching into a headwind but the storm is deep inside them, the clouds running over and pouring down their cheeks. 

Neither dwarf wants to do this. Neither prince wants to leave and Fíli's fingers shake as he reaches for the door. Kíli grabs his other hand, the archer's fingernails digging into his brother's skin. The pain helps him focus and with one last concerted effort, the princes manage to walk out of Bilbo's home. Fíli and Kíli stagger down the steps and mount their ponies, both dwarves looking back half a dozen times as they start to ride away. Even drawing strength from their own connection, Fíli and Kíli aren't sure how they'll survive the coming days.

“We will return here, won't we?” Kíli asks his brother plaintively, looking back at Bag End one more time.

“Of course we will,” Fíli reassures him. “As soon as the law is changed, we will return triumphant with jewels and gifts enough to court our amrâbulnas properly. So stay strong, little brother, just a few more months of separation and then our bond will be complete.”

The archer takes comfort from these words as he is meant to and his comfort soothes Fíli's hurt in turn. Even if Bilbo never feels the ashânumahâl that binds their spirits, surely he will not reject the princes' overtures. Surely he will come to love Fíli and Kíli just as much as they love him.

“You're right, Fí. It's going to be wonderful,” the younger dwarf says. He starts to spin a bright dream of the future for his brother, soothing the pain of separation by imagining the home that the three of them will make. If that home sounds much like Bag End, Fíli doesn't mention it. Bag End is as good a place as any for them to settle down; the older prince knows he'd be happy anywhere with his amrâbulnâs by his side.

All Fíli wants is Bilbo and Kíli to love and hold and treasure and the thought of them entwined sparks desire where none has ever stirred. This rush of heat is simply one more sign that they are meant to walk through life together, their trio far stronger than any pair could be.

Kíli stops talking once the princes catch up with the rest of Thorin’s company, Gandalf leading the dwarves to a nearby inn where he rented rooms for the night. But the archer’s dreaming served its purpose and despite the lingering ache inside their hearts, Fíli and Kíli are smiling when they fall asleep.

When they wake up in the morning, the princes feel more refreshed than they expected. The ashânumahâl still aches but the pain has faded slightly and their spirits are light when they join the rest of their companions in the taproom of the inn. While leaving Bilbo behind was awful, finding their amrâbulnas has only increased Fíli and Kíli's motivation to kill Smaug with style and then return to the Shire to woo the hobbit properly. 

However, Bilbo’s soft exterior must have hidden an adventurous streak as deep as any dwarrow’s because Thorin’s company has barely set out from Hobbiton when someone shouts for them to wait. 

It is Bilbo Baggins and at the sight of their amrâbulnas, Fíli and Kíli have to grin. Because the hobbit looks even more adorable in the daylight and the tug of the ashânumahâl is easing with every step he takes. 

By the time Bilbo reaches Balin and hands over his contract, the ache has faded to a dull throb of longing, though Fíli is certain that it will probably grow worse again with time. Indeed, now that his initial surge of delight has passed, the older prince can't help wondering if Bilbo's decision is really for the best. 

Because Fíli knows his brother and he doesn't know if Kíli will be able to contain himself until their quest is done. To be perfectly honest, Fíli doesn't know if _he_ will be able to resist both his amrâbulnâs together when he's been waiting for so long.

However, even though the hobbit's presence is bound to make everything more complicated – and test the princes' willpower to its limit – Fíli cannot hold onto his worry. Not when his brother's effervescent joy shines so brightly through their bond.

 _'Cheer up, brother,'_ Kíli signs in Iglishmêk, the other dwarves too distracted by Bilbo to notice his quick gestures. _'This is good. We will make Bilbo our friend so that he likes us and accepts our courtship when it comes.'_

Then the archer nudges his pony forward to greet the hobbit and what can his brother do but follow his amrâbulnas as he has always done? Still, Fíli cannot entirely quell the skeptical voice inside his head, the one that is certain this road will end in tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to manage at least bi-monthly updates, though the next chapter needs some help so it may be a little longer.


	3. Gem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for some love triangles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I would have had this to you earlier but my file got corrupted and I had to redo a lot of editing. This is why you should always back things up. If I had lost all 174 pages of this story, I might have given up and I'm still annoyed that I had to rewrite the epilogue.

So begins the quest for Azsâlul’abad and in the days that follow, Fíli quickly comes to the conclusion that his doubts were justified. Because Kíli throws himself into the task of befriending Bilbo with a vengeance. The older prince hasn't seen him this intent on something since he started learning archery. 

His brother spends far more time planning out ways to talk to Bilbo than he does on his chores and while Fíli would be happy to pick up the slack if Kíli's efforts were successful, their hobbit mostly just seems traumatized. The younger prince tends toward intensity in all of his emotions and Bilbo cannot use their bond to ground him the way that Fíli does. Even with the ashânumahâl, the older prince sometimes finds his brother a little hard to take.

After the fourth time Kíli manages to leave their hobbit pale and shaking, Fíli finally pulls him aside, grabbing his arm and asking, “What in Mahal's name have you been saying, Kí, to make Bilbo look like that?”

“I was just explaining all the different ways that our company could perish. That way he knows we're ready to protect him when our quest gets dangerous,” Kíli explains cheerfully. The archer clearly sees nothing wrong with that sentence and Fíli has to back a sigh. He loves his brother dearly but sometimes he is utterly baffled by his stupidity.

“Okay, Kí. Listen to me. From now on, you _cannot_ to talk to Bilbo when I'm not around,” the prince tells his brother firmly, sending a wave of love through their bond to ease the sting. “I know how much you care about our hobbit because I care about him too. But Bilbo doesn't know us yet and you can be rather overwhelming even when you don't mean to be. So you have to let me help you; befriending our burglar will be much easier if we work together now.”

“All right, Fí. I guess so,” Kíli replies with a small frown. “If you’re sure that’s for the best. I know I'm not always very good at reading people and I keep expecting Bilbo to feel me when he can't.”

The archer often has to stop himself from reaching out to his amrâbulnas, yanking his hands back before he can touch the hobbit’s skin. Such contact always makes the princes’ own connection stronger and Kíli is desperate to feel anything from Bilbo. He wants the burglar to acknowledge their connection, to know when he’s joking and share in his delight. But their hobbit just keeps looking at Kíli like he’s a stranger and so maybe Fíli's right.

The younger prince doesn’t like to admit to failure, but he trusts his brother's judgment and he can't deny that their relationship with Bilbo blossoms once the new rules are in place. As a trio, Fíli, Kíli, and Bilbo fit together even better than the princes always hoped they would, snapping into place like links of finely forged chainmail.

When the archer gets too excited and Bilbo starts looking twitchy, Fíli steps in to change the subject before their burglar can leave. When the older prince gets trapped inside his head, either Kíli or the hobbit finds a way to make him smile and together the brothers slowly draw their amrâbulnas from his shell. After a while, Bilbo even learns to handle Kíli's enthusiasm without his older brother's interference and so Fíli no longer has to worry about leaving them alone. 

Indeed, the prince finds himself worrying less about Kíli than he ever has before. Suddenly Fíli doesn't always have to be the voice of reason because Bilbo is there to rein in the archer’s wilder impulses before things get out of hand. Kíli isn't actually stupid but he's always had a way of accidentally lighting things on fire when Fíli's not around.

Whether in pairs or as a trio, the princes truly enjoy their hobbit's company and the three of them talk for hours as their party rides along. Fíli and Kíli tell the burglar about Ered Luin and their years of traveling while Bilbo offers stories of the Shire in return, every word painting a vivid picture of his home. Hobbits may not be adventurous but that doesn’t make them boring and some of Bilbo’s relatives could give Thorin a run for his coin in stubbornness.

The more time Fíli and Kíli spend with their amrâbulnas, the more they care about him – the call of the ashânumahâl joined by honest admiration in their hearts. Because Bilbo is sweet and funny and surprisingly sarcastic when he stops being proper. He tells the worst jokes with a sheepish smile and his dimples are almost as bright as Kíli’s are when he laughs.

More importantly, the hobbit treats Fíli and Kíli as people instead of princes, listening to their opinions without judgment or expectation of what normal dwarves believe. Bilbo may not agree with everything that the pair says but he’s always civil even when they're arguing.

Honestly, between the hobbit’s intelligence, politeness, humor, and minor streak of whimsy, Kíli and Fíli could hardly ask for any more. Their amrâbulnas seems pretty perfect in their eyes. Sure Bilbo is a little set in his ways, but he’s willing to learn, and a touch of stodginess is understandable considering how long he’s spent alone. Their burglar may be younger than Fíli and Kíli in years but he’s well into adulthood by the standards of his people and ever since his parents’ death, Bag End has been as much his bolt hole as his home.

Thorin's company has been traveling for several weeks before Fíli and Kíli learn more about the hobbits who shaped their amrâbulnas’ childhood. The group has stopped for the evening, making camp in a small grove on the edge of a river, and it's easy for the trio to slip away when Bilbo asks if they can talk alone. The princes lead the hobbit to a secluded nook near the water so that the sound of the river gives them some privacy.

“I wanted to tell you…” Bilbo starts before trailing off into silence. Then he shakes his head and tries again. “I wanted to tell you about my parents. About Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Took. You’ve been so patient with me and I want you to understand just where I’m coming from.”

The hobbit speaks about his parents quietly at first and even Kíli can tell that their deaths still hurt him. But there is fondness in the pain and Bilbo's sorrow seems to ease in the telling of his tale.

“Everyone says that I look just like my father, but I think I've always been my mother's son,” he says with a bittersweet smile. The hobbit hugs his knees as he continues and Fíli and Kíli would give anything to wrap their arms around him now. “She was curious about everything and I don't know why I let that part of myself wither when she died. I suppose I should thank Gandalf for not giving up on me, even though I'm still not entirely sure just what I'm doing here.”

“You’re here to keep us company, of course,” Fíli and Kíli tell him with twin smiles. “We’d be so bored without you. And your mother sounds amazing. She must have been amazing if she was even half as bold as you.”

Bilbo may not have seen much of the world, but he hasn’t allowed his lack of experience to make him close-minded and he’s making up for lost time with a vengeance now. The hobbit is endlessly curious about the differences between their cultures and the princes are happy to tell him everything they can.

This is less than Fíli and Kíli would like since their people have always been secretive and while the rules about forbidden knowledge should not apply amongst amrâbulnâs, the princes cannot use that excuse if anyone finds out. Instead they skirt the edges of defiance, spilling enough secrets that Thorin would still be furious but not breaking any laws outright.

Fíli and Kíli even tell Bilbo about the ashânumahâl, though that conversation does not go as the princes hoped. Bilbo has never heard of such bonds existing between lovers and indeed, he seems to find the whole concept rather odd. 

Even if the dwarves were willing to risk their burglar’s life by telling him the truth, they can hardly show their karrash to Bilbo after that. The only thing worse than getting killed for their amrâbulnas would be getting killed for his rejection and it's all Fíli and Kíli can do to mask their disappointment until the conversation turns to other topics.

However, even though Bilbo doesn't feel their connection – might _never_ feel their connection – the princes refuse to give up hope just yet. The hobbit _is_ their friend, that much has been proven, and while friendship is not love, it will give them a foundation on which to build upon.

Assuming, of course, that Thorin doesn't ruin everything before the princes get their chance. The dwarf lord’s opinion of Bilbo has only declined since their company left the Shire and he seems determined to send the burglar running back to Hobbiton. Indeed, Thorin takes every available opportunity to insult the hobbit’s skills instead of helping him get better and Fíli nearly strikes his uncle in anger more than once.

Then, to make matters even worse, the dwarf lord proceeds to break his own rules about secrecy when Bilbo asks about Dwalin's karashumrâb one evening after they’ve made camp. Thorin gives the hobbit an in-depth lecture on ashânumahâl and of course, he has to mention that Fíli and Kíli are bound as well. He's so proud of the good omen that their marriage represents that he won't shut up about it, no matter how desperately his sister-sons try to cut him off. The princes can only watch and listen on in horror as Thorin explains their laws in gruesome detail, ruining their chances further with every word he speaks.

How is Bilbo supposed to fall in love with Kíli and Fíli if he knows that it's forbidden? Why would the hobbit wish for a romance that would probably kill them all?

Although the princes weren’t planning to court their amrâbulnas until later, Fíli had hoped to lay the groundwork before the law was gone. He had hoped to know that Bilbo would be open to the thought. But when Thorin finishes his lecture, the expression on the hobbit’s face is not encouraging.

Honestly, everything would have been so much easier if Bilbo had just stayed in the Shire until their quest was done. Easier and yet impossible for Fíli to imagine now. Indeed, the thought of losing their hobbit twists the brothers' hearts to breaking and they redouble their efforts to show Bilbo their adoration within the limits of the law.

However, even as Fíli and Kíli’s friendship with the hobbit continues to grow stronger, Thorin becomes increasingly critical of Bilbo’s actions and the princes' attempts to help their burglar prove his worth never seem to go as planned.

When Kíli teaches the hobbit to make snares, his uncle grumbles about the rope they're wasting. When Fíli shows Bilbo some basic knife-work, the burglar's first throw puts a hole in Thorin's coat. Every gain is met with sighs and griping and when the trio runs into a group of mountain trolls, the whole encounter goes wrong right from the start. Bilbo is supposed to steal back their ponies and thus return a hero but instead the entire company somehow ends up trussed and tied. 

Although their burglar manages to salvage the situation, distracting the trolls until Gandalf can come to the rescue, Thorin refuses to acknowledge Bilbo’s cleverness. Instead, the princes’ uncle takes this entire encounter as further proof of the hobbit’s worthlessness and watching his amrâbulnas wilt beneath Thorin’s anger makes Fíli grind his teeth until it hurts.

And yet, despite all of this – despite their uncle’s insults and his unrelenting scorn – the way that Thorin looks at Bilbo is not what truly terrifies the dwarf lord’s sister-sons. If the hobbit decides to leave their company, Fíli and Kíli would survive that separation – the pain might come close to killing them, but they would manage if they had to – and their amrâbulnas is too loyal for them to think that likely now.

No, what makes Kíli turn to his brother in abject panic is not the way that Thorin looks at Bilbo, it is the way that Bilbo looks at Thorin in return. The archer first notices the hobbit's preoccupation just after their company arrives in Rivendell, how their burglar watches Thorin when the dwarf lord is distracted and the way he blushes when Thorin turns his way. 

At first Kíli doesn't mention his suspicions to his brother; the younger prince cannot believe what he is seeing and he doesn't want to worry Fíli until he knows for sure. It doesn't seem fair that Mahal would bind the princes' hearts to Bilbo only to let him to fall for Thorin; why hadn't their creator simply left Fíli and Kíli to each other if he planned to treat their hearts this way?

The archer does not want to believe that Mahal could be so cruel and yet the more attention that he pays to Thorin and Bilbo’s interactions, the more obvious it seems. Even when the dwarf lord is insulting Elrond’s hospitality or trying to leave Bilbo out of his secret meetings, the hobbit can’t keep his eyes off Thorin. He’s not in love with the princes’ uncle, not yet, but he’s clearly headed in that direction and that simply cannot stand.

Fíli is in firm agreement on this point as soon as Kíli tells his brother what he’s noticed and discovers that the older prince has seen these signs as well. It may be selfish of them but the dwarves will not let their amrâbulnas go without a fight. Bilbo is supposed to be theirs and even if the hobbit never loves them, he deserves much better than Thorin's endless scorn.

So the princes make a plan and when the company leaves Rivendell, Fíli and Kíli begin a campaign of interference. Every time Bilbo starts to sigh after their uncle, the brothers do their best to distract him with other things instead.

There is always something for them to show the hobbit – some conversation or piece of scenery to draw his attention away from Thorin and back where it belongs. However, keeping Bilbo’s focus away from their uncle is much harder than it should be considering the dwarf lord's temperament. Thorin has never shown Bilbo any sort of respect or loyalty and while the princes love their amrâbulnas, his taste in dwarves is terrible.

Fíli and Kíli run themselves ragged trying to keep Thorin and Bilbo separated while still completing all their duties and by the time they reach the Misty Mountains, both princes are exhausted. Although they won't give up on their hobbit, Fíli knows that the status quo cannot continue; they’re going to burn themselves out if something doesn’t change.

So he and Kíli are grateful for the respite when Gandalf convinces Thorin to call an early halt one evening. The dwarves are still in the lower reaches of the Misty Mountains but the road is only growing steeper and it has been a long few days for everyone.

Thorin orders Fíli and Nori to collect firewood while the other dwarves set up their camp. It takes some time for the pair to find dry kindling and on their return, the prince finds himself glancing Bilbo's way. His eyes are often drawn to the burglar but tonight he does not have the strength to look away.

Not when Kíli is sitting next to their hobbit and helping him repair a small tear in his pack. The archer's face is lit up with interest, his smile wide as Bilbo explains something energetically. The burglar can be almost as bad as Kíli is once he gets going and while Fíli cannot hear what his amrâbulnâs are saying, the scene strikes him to his core.

That is where Fíli wants to be. The prince wants to come home and find both of his amrâbulnâs glowing with excitement over some story they've just read. He wants to curl up between them by the fire and kiss them thoroughly when desire strikes. Most of all, Fíli wants Kíli and Bilbo to always know such happiness, their smiles warming him from head to toe.

“Be careful, my prince. Your eyes are straying.”

Nori's murmured warning brings Fíli back to his senses with a jolt, the prince caught between defensiveness and fear. No one is supposed to discover what he and Kíli have been hiding for so long, not until they can shout it openly. But when the prince meets Nori's eyes, he does not see any judgment. All Fíli sees is a quiet understanding and he lets his denials die before they leave his lips.

“Why?” the prince asks instead, leaving the other dwarf to interpret this question how he wants. _Why warn me? Why help me? Why don't you hate me for my crime?_

“Because you're not the only one who loves outside the law,” Nori replies with a half shrug, answering Fíli's unspoken queries all at once. 

This cryptic response only makes the prince more curious since there must be a story behind the other dwarrow's words. However, Nori is still walking toward the rest of their companions and Fíli won't risk his questions being overheard.

So the prince just follows the other dwarf back into camp. He puts his wood in a pile next to Bombur and then sits down by his brother, waving Kíli off when he starts to ask what's wrong. The archer knows that something happened – he would have felt his amrâbulnas' surprise – but Fíli can't explain the situation now. Even using Iglishmêk would be too dangerous with everyone else around.

“I'll tell you later,” Fíli promises and while Kíli isn't happy about the brush off, he lets Bilbo distract him soon enough. This leaves the older prince free to watch Nori as the dwarves eat supper and then spread out their bedrolls, watch and wonder what he'd meant. Fíli has never imagined that any of his companions could share his sorrow and now he can hardly think for curiosity. But eventually exhaustion pulls him under and the prince sleeps deeply until dawn.

When he finally wakes up, Fíli takes his brother aside and tells him about what happened, murmuring his explanation into Kíli's ear.

“I think Nori may be an ally,” the prince says once he's finished. “But I need to find out more.”

“All right,” Kíli agrees. “If you want to get him alone, I can ensure that no one follows. Unless you'd prefer to have me there?”

“I always want you with me, you know that. But it'll be too suspicious if all three of us suddenly disappear,” Fíli says, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “You had best run interference while I talk to Nori; we can't risk anyone else overhearing this conversation and we still need to keep Thorin and Bilbo as far apart as possible. Will you watch over our hobbit while I'm gone?”

“Of course, Fí. You know I always will.”

The princes have to stop talking then since their companions have begun to stir around them, the dwarves breaking camp and starting their journey once again. 

As they climb further into the Misty Mountains, the path becomes rougher and narrower, forcing Thorin's company to walk in a single file line. Under these conditions, Fíli can't hope to talk to Nori so he inserts himself between Thorin and Bilbo instead, Kíli tugging their hobbit back so that the older prince can jump ahead. 

“Walk by me,” the archer says when Bilbo looks askance at him, “I want to hear more about your garden; we don't grow much but potatoes in the plots back home.”

Kíli keeps the burglar engaged in conversation so that he cannot even think of Thorin and tries to keep Bilbo's spirits up when he starts to flag. His amrâbulnas is not made for trekking but between the two of them, Fíli and Kíli help the hobbit match their pace. They make him forget his exhaustion with stories and with laughter and when a section of the path is blocked by a rocky landslide, they are there to aid his climb.

However, both dwarves are still careful not to touch Bilbo skin to skin. Fíli and Kíli have enough trouble ignoring their desire with only a vague sense of the hobbit's presence; feeling Bilbo's true heart would ruin them.

 _With our luck he'd probably be lusting after uncle; then I'd have to puke or throw myself right off this cliff,_ Fíli thinks bitterly. _Or Kíli would spill the truth and we'd just get executed. Uncle would probably kill us all himself._

He and his brother manage to distract Bilbo while they're with him but as soon as they move to other tasks, the hobbit goes right back to staring after Thorin dreamily. His persistence would almost be admirable if it weren't so damn irritating and Fíli really doesn't understand how Bilbo can want someone who treats him terribly. Sure his uncle is attractive if their burglar likes the brooding type, but no amount of majestically flowing hair should make up for his ill temper. 

And yet, it seems it does.

_Which is simply one more reason that I need to talk to Nori; keeping uncle away from our amrâbulnas would be so much easier with allies on our side. We have to keep Bilbo from falling any further until Kíli and I can make our true intentions clear._

Unfortunately, Fíli still hasn't managed to get Nori alone when Thorin's company finally stops for the evening many hours later. By then the prince is cold, damp, and tired, and while he means to only sit down for a moment before trying to talk with Nori, he doesn't wake up until Thorin shouts them onward at the dawn.

Half a dozen more attempts to speak with Nori run afoul of bad luck or poor timing and the prince is starting to feel quite ragged when their company finally nears the highest pass. Between distracting Bilbo, stalking Nori, and keeping Kíli motivated, Fíli barely has a chance to breathe. 

The rest of his companions aren't in much better temper and the prince is worried that his brother may actually try to hurt Thorin if he doesn't curb his vicious tongue. Not that Fíli can blame Kíli for his anger when their uncle's insults make the older prince want to rip the dwarf lord limb from limb. At this rate, Bilbo really is going to leave and Fíli doesn't want his amrâbulnas where he can't protect him; the hobbit wouldn't be safe traveling all the way back home alone.

So Fíli is almost ready to forget about Nori in order to focus on his uncle when Mahal decides to smile down on him at last. First the weather finally breaks, everyone’s mood improving greatly as their clothes begin to dry. Then the company stumbles on some actual shelter just as night begins to fall, a few stunted trees growing against the cliff face offering protection from the wind.

Seeing these trees gives the dwarves hope that they might be able to light a fire for the first time in days and when Nori offers to gather wood, Fíli catches Kíli's eye. His brother nods, sending him a flicker of encouragement in answer to his unspoken question, and so the prince volunteers to help Nori with his task. He barely waits for his uncle to agree before running after the other dwarf, worried that he might lose him in dark. 

However, Fíli needn't have hurried because Nori is waiting for him several meters up the path.

“I thought you might want to talk to me,” the older dwarf says before turning and walking farther from the camp. The prince follows without a word, both of them picking up twigs and branches along the way. They don’t want the others to ask questions and Thorin would be furious if they went back empty-handed after this.

Nori only stops once the rest of the company is definitely out of earshot, setting his load aside and turning to Fíli expectantly. “If you want my story then you had best be telling yours."

The prince hesitates for a moment, deep-rooted secrecy warring with his need to know the other dwarrow's tale. But Nori has already seen enough to ruin Fíli if he wished and so the dwarf has nothing to lose by honesty.

“Bilbo is our amrâbulnas, mine and Kíli's,” the prince says quietly. It feels both strange and wonderful to finally speak the words aloud. “We are bonded to him just as we’re bonded to each other, though the law says otherwise.”

“You are a trinity then; I had wondered,” Nori tells him and maybe Fíli and Kíli haven’t been as subtle as they thought. “I recognized the expression on your face because I have seen it on my own amrâbulnas many times.”

The other dwarf starts to remove one of the strips of cloth that are wrapped around his forearm and Fíli cannot hold back a gasp when his skin is revealed. For while both of Nori’s wrists are bare, _Dwalin Fundinson_ is written down his arm in neat black runes.

“You have a karashumrâb? But it's not upon your wrist,” the prince murmurs in surprise. “I thought only second names went outside the law. And Dwalin, he's…"

“Married to my brother, yes,” Nori finishes for Fíli. “From what I have discovered, dwarves with only one ashânumahâl almost always bear their karash upon the wrist. But this is not set in stone and our so-called false karrash seem to be far more varied in location, although their position always matches between amrâbulnâs. That much has been true in every case I’ve found.”

The other dwarf looks down at his karash with a crooked smile before wrapping his arm in cloth again. “I am not Ori's amrâbulnas, not as you are to Kíli. However, my brother and I both carry Dwalin's name and he is marked with ours in turn. It is a little odd that Ori received the wrist mark even though I’m older, but if only one of us could be recognized as Dwalin's amrâbulnas, I am grateful it is him. I am better equipped than Ori to face this world alone."

“I am sorry; at least Kíli and I still have each other. We knew we weren't the only dwarves with other karrash but we didn't know you shared our pain,” Fíli says, his heart aching for Nori's sacrifice. The prince doesn't know if he would've been strong enough to accept defeat as gracefully; considering how hard he and his brother are trying to keep Bilbo from their uncle, the answer is probably no. But the other dwarf just shrugs one shoulder in reply.

“It's not your fault, lad. There are far more ways to love than are recognized by the laws of the khazâd. I knew a couple back in Azsâlul’abad who bore five karrash between them and only they knew exactly where their hearts were tied.”

“What happened to them?”

Fíli has to ask. He has to know if there is any hope for him and Kíli if the law remains unchanged. But the prince can see the answer on Nori's face even before he speaks.

“What do you think, Fíli? Someone caught them,” the other dwarf says wearily. “The couple was seen with another of their amrâbulnâs and all three dwarves were thrown into the dungeons to wait for sentencing. They were still there when Smaug attacked our kingdom so I assume they burned or died of starvation after all our kin had fled. So be careful, lad; I doubt most of our companions would be as understanding as I am if they learned the truth. I’m surprised that your hobbit has not let it slip already; he may be our burglar but he seems the honest type.”

“Bilbo doesn't know,” Fíli admits and the words are like glass inside his throat. “Our bond is fainter than it should be and when we asked him, he said that hobbits do not have amrâbulnâs. Hobbits marry where they wish and Bilbo has set his sights on uncle; he keeps running after Thorin while we cannot even court him. Not until we change the law.”

“What do you mean, change the law?” Nori asks sharply. “There is no way to change it. We drew the short stick when Mahal handed out amrâbulnâs and we must live with that.”

“Not if we succeed. Think about it, Nori. Once Thorin is crowned as King Under the Mountain, he will be able to rewrite our laws as he sees fit. That is the power granted by the Arkenstone. And what better boon to give those brave souls who aided him than a chance at happiness? That’s why Kíli and I volunteered to help Thorin reclaim the Lonely Mountain. We meant to earn the right to court our amrâbulnas when we found him; we never expected that we might meet Bilbo first. And now we must stop our hobbit from falling any more in love with Thorin before we miss our chance entirely.”

Although Fíli's speech begins impassioned, his words have turned pleading by the time he finishes. When said out loud, the princes' task seems insurmountable and he doesn't know how they will manage if Nori does not help. Indeed, the last few weeks have proven that Kíli and Fíli definitely need assistance if they are to have any hope of winning Bilbo over without courting him openly.

“You are dreamers, the both of you,” Nori replies, shaking his head in disbelief. “But maybe dreamers are what our people need. So my brothers and I are at your service. We will do our best to make this mad hope of yours successful, no matter how slim the chance might be.”

“Truly? You will help us?” Fíli asks, surprised by the other dwarf's quick change of heart.

“Of course,” Nori tells him with a wry smile. “Your lives are not the only ones that will change for the better if Thorin grants your plea and I would do much worse than help you court your hobbit in order to make Dwalin mine at last. Besides, Thorin doesn't deserve Bilbo with the way that he's been acting; I don't understand what your amrâbulnas sees in him at all.”

The prince winces at this last comment but despite the painful truth of Nori's words, he's glad to have the help. So he just thanks the other dwarf sincerely before gathering some more wood and heading back to camp.

When Fíli repeats the conversation for his brother later, Kíli can scarcely believe it even though he knows that the older prince would never lie. The rest of their companions have always seemed so normal, so put together, and the archer never imagined that such secrets lay beneath.

However, once Kíli starts watching Nori and his brother, the signs seem obvious. He recognizes his own longing in the glances that Nori shares with Dwalin and the guilt in Ori's eyes suddenly makes sense. 

Truthfully, the archer finds it comforting to know that he and Fíli aren't the only members of Thorin’s company whose karrash do not fit within the law. The princes are not freaks; they're just what Mahal made them and with Nori's help, they will prove their mother wrong.

Indeed, the other dwarf is true to his word and the princes’ quest to keep Bilbo single starts going much smoother after that. When Fíli and Kíli are busy with their chores, one of the Ri brothers steps in to distract their hobbit so that Bilbo is never allowed to speak with Thorin for more than a few moments at a time.

If the burglar starts talking about the dwarf lord's flowing hair, Ori is there to say that Kíli's is much nicer and Dori is always ready with a list of Thorin's flaws. He snores, he's rude, he has a temper; the list goes on and on. 

Slowly Bilbo seems to realize that Thorin is hardly perfect and he no longer looks so desolate when the princes’ uncle starts to yell. Hurt, yes, but Fíli and Kíli are more than happy to soothe the hobbit's feelings and Nori does a wicked impression of the dwarf lord when he’s not around. Together the princes and their allies show Bilbo just how much he's valued and with their support, the burglar starts to win over the rest of Thorin's company as well.

Everyone but Thorin since the dwarf lord seems determined to treat Bilbo as a burden no matter what he does. Even when their group runs into some stone giants and the hobbit nearly dies, Thorin somehow manages to blame Bilbo for falling off the path. As though it could be the burglar’s fault that the giants decided to throw rocks everywhere.

This is the last straw for Kíli. Although the archer tries to respect Thorin, his uncle isn't acting very kingly now. The archer almost lost his amrâbulnas tonight before he even got to kiss him and he cuts the dwarf lord’s rant off with a growl. 

“Enough, uncle! Any of us could have slipped as easily and I'm tired of you blaming Bilbo for our company’s bad luck.”

Thorin's expression is priceless and Fíli's amusement resonates through their bond as their uncle starts blustering. However, the blinding grin that Bilbo sends to Kíli is what makes the archer feel like he can do anything. 

They've totally got this. Thorin has lost the contest and nothing will stand in the princes' way when their quest is done. Kíli's uncle would need to have a total change of heart to even be considered and that does not seem likely now. 

So the archer finds himself smiling despite the freezing rain that's dripping down his ears. Life is good and will only be getting better; indeed, the company soon finds a cave in which to weather out the storm. Gandalf wanders off to smoke while the dwarves ring out their dripping clothes. Fíli and Kíli lay their bedrolls on either side of Bilbo – just to keep him warm, of course – and as the younger prince drifts off to sleep by his amrâbulnâs, he doesn't think he's ever been more content in all his life.

Which, of course, is when Thorin's company is suddenly swarmed by goblins and in the ensuing chaos, Bilbo disappears. The hobbit is there one instant and gone the next, only the faint hum of the princes’ ashânumahâl to prove that he still breathes.


	4. Ramekh

Even as goblins drag Thorin’s company into the dark depths of the Misty Mountains, Kíli is far more worried about Bilbo’s safety than his own. The latter probably should have been more pressing but worrying about the archer has always been Fíli’s job and since he hasn’t felt his brother panic, Kíli is sure they’ll be all right. The princes have their fellow warriors and a wizard to aid in their survival while their missing hobbit has no such guardians.  
  
Indeed, the dwarves have just been brought before the goblins’ leader when Gandalf arrives to help them. The wizard blinds their captors with magic so that his companions can break free and they grab their weapons before running toward the surface as fast as possible. The goblins try to stop them only to be met with naked steel and fury.  
  
Although, in truth, Fíli and Kíli are fighting primarily on instinct as their eyes search for the slightest glimpse of Bilbo in the dark. They will not leave these tunnels without their amrâbulnas, they can’t, and the archer almost gets decapitated when his bond with Bilbo suddenly grows even fainter. The hobbit is not dead, this much is certain, but something is very wrong.  
  
Something has stretched his connection with Bilbo near to breaking and it's only Dwalin's iron grip on Kíli's shoulder that stops him from running back the way they came. Well, that and the thousands of screaming goblins chasing after Thorin's company.  
  
As much as the princes want to find their hobbit, they will be no use to Bilbo dead, and against such overwhelming numbers, the dwarves can only flee.  
  
“We'll come back for him,” Fíli promises his brother fiercely and Kíli nods shortly before he starts to run. The princes and their companions follow after Gandalf as the wizard leads them toward the surface, trying desperately to stay ahead of the goblins on their heels.  
  
Kíli sends his thoughts toward Bilbo while sprinting through the tunnels, hoping and praying that this time the hobbit will respond. But the archer receives nothing but silence in answer, his sense of Bilbo so weak that he can barely feel his amrâbulnas at all.  
  
The younger prince is so focused on the burglar that he nearly falls off the path; only luck and Nori's quick reflexes stop Kíli from tumbling. Fíli keeps one hand on his brother after that, although it's Dori who blocks the arrows aimed at the princes' backs. In truth, Kíli barely notices. The archer would have happily been shot in order to know that Bilbo was okay but there's still no sign of the hobbit when Thorin's company finally sees the light again.  
  
The dwarves race for the exit, the goblins' shouts chasing them out onto the mountainside. Sunlight stops the creatures from following them any farther but Gandalf continues running anyway. The wizard only stops once they've left the tunnel entrance far behind and his companions stumble to a halt gratefully. Dwarves aren't built for sprinting and even Thorin is panting heavily.  
  
Kíli and Fíli leans against each other as they try to catch their breath, still trying to sense anything but blankness from their burglar. They have to go back; they have to convince Thorin that Bilbo is worth saving before they lose everything.  
  
What point would there be in changing dwarvish law if they've lost their amrâbulnas? If the hobbit was safe at home, that would be a different matter. But the princes won't abandon Bilbo when he's sick or injured, and there can be no other reason for the void inside their chests.  
  
So Fíli turns toward Thorin, trying to think of an argument that will make the dwarf lord turn around. His uncle may not like Bilbo but surely the prince can appeal to his sense of loyalty. However, before Fíli can plead his case, Gandalf speaks instead.  
  
“Where is Bilbo? Where is our hobbit?” the wizard asks, looking around the clearing frantically.  
  
“You must be joking. Now he's lost?”  
  
“Don't blame me. I thought he was with Bombur.”  
  
“Well, clearly not,” Gandalf says a little sharply. “Where did you last see him? One of you must know something!”  
  
“I thought I saw Bilbo slip away when we were captured,” Nori speaks up. “It was sensible of him to take advantage of the opportunity and if he’s really a good burglar, he should catch up soon enough.”  
  
“What? Are you sure? Tell me exactly what happened!” the wizard orders.  
  
Gandalf looks prepared to run back into the goblin tunnels after Bilbo and the princes are glad to see that at least one person shares their worry. Although, to be fair, most of Fíli and Kíli's companions seem to be concerned about the hobbit’s fate. It's only Thorin who doesn’t care at all.  
  
“I'll tell you what happened.” the dwarf lord sneers. “Bilbo Baggins saw his chance to run and he took it. Our burglar is long gone.”  
  
“Seriously, what is your problem?!” Kíli bursts out. “Why are you being such a _dick_?!”  
  
Thorin just glares in answer, the dwarf's expression daring his sister-son to challenge him again. Kíli is fully prepared to make this into a proper argument but before he can say anything he might regret, his connection with Bilbo suddenly comes rushing back. The ashânumahâl flares into life between them, both princes swaying from the relief of knowing that their amrâbulnas is fine. Fíli and Kíli still can't feel the burglar as strongly as they feel each other but anything is better than the empty void that had been there before.  
  
Indeed, the brothers can't stop themselves from hugging Bilbo when the hobbit steps out from behind the nearest tree. Even with several inches of leather in between them, the burglar's warmth is comforting. Kíli and Fíli hold him tight, squeezing Bilbo in their arms until he squeaks.  
  
The princes only let go when Thorin interrupts them. He pulls the trio apart so that he can yell at Bilbo, somehow finding fault with the hobbit even now.  
  
The dwarf lord seems determined to drive away their burglar for good, insulting his courage, his skill, and his loyalty in a multitude of ways. Thorin's rant is entirely illogical, built on nothing but dislike and paranoia, and Fíli has just opened his mouth to protest when Bilbo speaks up first.  
  
“Look, Thorin. I know that you don't like me,” the hobbit growls. “But you're the one who hired me so you can damn well suck it up. I am here and I am going to help you; I gave my word and whatever you believe about my honor, a Baggins never breaks his promises. So yes, I miss my home and my armchair and my garden, but we're on this quest to reclaim _your_ family's kingdom, so maybe you should spend a little less time being a hypocrite and a little more time watching out for traps. I swear to Aulë and his lady that before this quest is done, you are going to admit that I'm more than some burden you were forced to drag along. You're going to like me someday, Thorin, wait and see.”  
  
Although Bilbo's speech implies a greater need for the dwarf lord's approval than Fíli likes to hear, the prince's misgivings are overwhelmed by admiration as Thorin gapes in shock. The hobbit has struck his uncle speechless and Fíli couldn't be prouder of his amrâbulnas for calling the dwarf lord out at last.  
  
_Mahal but he really is perfect_ , the prince thinks to himself. Kíli and Fíli love their burglar dearly, but he hasn't exactly shown much spine before this and it's so nice to see him stand up for himself.  
  
Thorin even looks apologetic, which is not an expression that his sister-sons have often seen. Maybe their uncle has finally realized what a jerk he's been to Bilbo, though to have him actually say he's sorry would be a miracle.  
  
“I-” the dwarf lord starts. But before he can finish his sentence, a chilling howl cuts through the air.  
  
“Wargs!” Gandalf curses at the sound and when his companions look back up the mountain, they see that he is right. There is a pack of wargs charging toward Thorin's company and once again, the dwarves must flee.  
  
They run until they can run no further. Their path is blocked by a sheer cliff and razor fangs are snapping at their heels.  
  
“To the trees! All of you climb!”  
  
At the wizard's urging, Thorin's company takes to the trees, even the stockiest dwarrow made nimble by necessity. The dwarves are hoping that the wargs will lose interest if they cannot reach their prey but this is not to be. These wargs are driven by more than hunger; they answer to an ancient enemy.  
  
Balin and Dwalin can't believe their eyes when the pale orc rides out of the shadows, rays of moonlight catching on the white fur of his warg. Azog the Defiler has come back from certain death to take his revenge on Thorin, to slay the one who nearly killed him at Azanulbizar. Indeed, the pale orc is the stuff of nightmares: tall and strong and covered with scars from head to toe. His single arm only makes him look more dangerous, a three clawed mace embedded in the stump where his other arm had been.  
  
The Defiler grins sharply when he sees that Thorin and his companions have been trapped and a guttural command signals his warg pack to attack. The creatures crash into the trees, snarling and snapping at the dwarves who scramble farther out of reach.  
  
For a moment, all seems lost. But then Gandalf remembers that he’s actually a wizard and flaming pinecones serve to drive the creatures off. Wargs do not like fire any more than wolves do and they run back to Azog with their tails between their legs.  
  
However, this moment of respite doesn’t last. The dwarves cry out in alarm when the trees in which they've taken refuge begin to topple one by one. Thorin and his companions are forced to leap from tree to tree in order to keep from crashing to the ground.  
  
When the dust settles, the entire company is perched amongst the branches of a single pine tree on the very edge of the cliff. Looking down is not an option – the merest glance nearly makes Dori faint with vertigo – and there is no place to left for them to run.  
  
Azog rides closer, a gloating smirk on his face as his prey glares at him helplessly. Even without the wargs, Thorin's company is too exhausted to fight the Defiler and his pack with any hope of success. However, the dwarves are out of other options and their chances grow even slimmer when their last refuge starts to tip. Thorin and his companions scramble to hold on as the tree's roots pull free of the ground, only Dwalin's quick lunge saving Ori from falling to his death. Fíli and Kíli nearly fall themselves before the tree finally settles, though thankfully their hobbit is safer up on the trunk.  
  
The pine teeters on the edge of the cliff and the dwarves know that it won't be long before the last few roots give out. Their only choice now is whether to die by orc or die by gravity and like any true son of Durin, Thorin chooses to attack.  
  
Fíli and Kíli don't begrudge their uncle this decision, not when the brothers would be right there with him if they could. However, the princes do not expect Thorin's charge to fail quite so miserably. For all the dwarf lord's flaws – and there are many – his sister-sons have never doubted his ability to fight.  
  
Yet Azog strikes the dwarf lord down without even trying; the Defiler's white warg swats Thorin to the ground with one blow of its paw and his sister-sons scream their uncle's name as much with shock as fear. Then the Defiler strikes a great blow with his mace, knocking the shield from Thorin's hands before his warg grabs the dwarf lord and throws him through the air. Thorin does not get up again and Azog mutters something that Fíli and Kíli can't understand. But the princes don't need to speak orcish to read the scorn upon his face.  
  
At Azog's signal, one of his orcs stalks over to Thorin and raises his sword high. Kíli and Fíli try to pull themselves up but the princes know that they won't make it before the dwarf lord dies.  
  
However, the brothers' horror at the danger to their uncle is nothing compared to the panic that ignites within their hearts when Bilbo suddenly runs onto the field. He tackles the orc, knocking the creature to the ground before its sword can fall. Fíli and Kíli can feel the hobbit's desperation as he buries his blade in the orc's chest; some unknown barrier between the amrâbulnâs shatters into pieces and the princes feel everything.  
  
The dwarves' ashânumahâl sings with Bilbo's fear and with his courage, the sudden strength of their connection taking Kíli and Fíli's breaths away. And yet, it's the hobbit's willingness to die in order to save their uncle that gives the brothers strength enough to climb back onto solid ground. Bilbo isn't dying for anyone, not tonight, and the princes leap to his defense with a strident battle cry.  
  
The pair may be outnumbered but their ferocity drives Azog's pack away from Thorin and their hobbit, Fíli and Kíli relying more on the ashânumahâl than any conscious strategy.  
  
But even as half a dozen orcs fall beneath the princes' weapons, Azog and his wargs dance around them and it's only a matter of time before this fight is lost. At least the amrâbulnâs will die together, Fíli, Kíli, and Bilbo united in death if not in life as Mahal meant for them to be.  
  
_This is it,_ the archer thinks when a warg slams into him. The creature knocks him to the ground, its jaws snapping at his neck as he tries to hold it off.  
  
“Kíli!” his brother shouts. Fíli lunges at the warg but his first strike glances off the monster's shoulder. He raises his sword for another blow when an orc jumps onto his back, wiry arms wrapping around his neck. The creature's weight pulls the prince off balance and he falls onto the ground. Fíli manages to stab the orc in the ensuing struggle, but the grip on his neck only tightens when it dies. He gasps for air, trying to pry the monster off him before another warg attacks.  
  
“Aagh!” Kíli curses and a flash of pain slices through his brother's shoulder. When Fíli glances over, the archer is still fighting with the warg that jumped him, every snap of the creature's jaws a little closer to his face.  
  
A few feet away, Thorin is lying on the ground and the prince can’t be sure he’s still alive. Meanwhile, Bilbo has been cornered by two orcs against a burning tree trunk and Fíli knows that he's about to lose everyone he holds most dear.  
  
Until an enormous shadow dives across his vision, wings dark as pitch against the flame-lit sky.  
  
At first the prince assumes this eagle is some new beast of Azog's and he scrambles for a dagger with which to fight it off. But the bird is not here for Fíli. It flies over the dwarf without pausing and grabs the warg on top of Kíli in its claws. The eagle lifts the beast into the air and throws it off the mountain even as another dozen of its brethren drop out of the night.  
  
Apparently these eagles are here as Thorin’s allies and Fíli does not stop to question where they came from or why they wish to help. He honestly does not care about the answer as long as his kin survive.  
  
So the prince just throws his dagger at one of the orcs that threatens Bilbo. The weapon slams into the monster’s head with a wet thunk, this orc slowly crumpling to the ground as the hobbit stabs the other in the gut. Fíli struggles to his feet, picking up his sword and running to his brother's side. Kíli is bleeding where the warg's fangs tore through his leathers, but the injuries are superficial and it could have been much worse.  
  
The prince helps his brother up and then looks around for the rest of their companions. He collects Bilbo and his knife before moving to check on Thorin, his uncle breathing but still unconscious from his injuries.  
  
At least the fight is over. Azog has disappeared and there are eagles everywhere, some lifting the other dwarves out of danger while others chase the surviving wargs as an owl might hunt a mouse.  
  
One by one Thorin's companions are swept away to safety until only his sister-sons, Bilbo, and the dwarf lord still remain. Fíli secures his uncle's sword and shield before another eagle wraps its talons around Thorin and then the prince is being lifted from the ground. He and Kíli are dropped onto an enormous feathered back and Bilbo lands next to them a few seconds later, both brothers grabbing the hobbit’s coat to ensure he does not fall.  
  
While Kíli gets their amrâbulnas settled safely, Fíli does a quick headcount and his mind is eased when he sees that everyone survived. Even Thorin is still breathing due to their hobbit’s bravery and surely the prince’s uncle will be forced to acknowledge Bilbo now.  
  
Indeed, there is a strange bubbling elation inside of Fíli’s chest and it takes him a moment to realize that this feeling belongs to their burglar. He isn't used to sensing Bilbo’s heart this clearly but he is overjoyed to know that their ashânumahâl is not as broken as he'd thought. Kíli must have been right when he said that Bilbo was somehow blocking their connection and whether it was intentional or not, that barrier is gone.  
  
Fíli can feel the hobbit's emotions almost as clearly as he has always felt his brother's: Bilbo's relief at being alive, his surprise at his own actions, and the sheer joy of having wings beneath his feet. The prince tries not to hope too much for fear of disappointment, but he can't stop himself from smiling.  
  
Surely this is a sign that he and his brother will succeed.  
  
So Fíli wraps himself up in his cloak and rests his head on Kíli’s shoulder, the touch of his amrâbulnas lulling him to sleep. He slumbers without dreaming and when he wakes to a new dawn, he feels more hopeful than he has for quite some time.  
  
The prince nudges Kíli and Bilbo awake when their eagle begins to descend, his amrâbulnâs yawning and stretching their arms out carefully. The raptor settles gently atop a tall rocky spire and the three amrâbulnâs leap down to the stone. As soon as their feet touch solid ground, the bird leaps back into the air to make room for its brethren. Fíli, Kíli, and Bilbo move aside when the next raptor starts to land, helping to steady their companions as each bird drops off its passengers.  
  
The last eagle places Thorin’s body on the stone and then the whole flock departs, several of the dwarves waving at them in farewell.  
  
Before the birds are out of sight, Gandalf is rushing to Thorin's side. The dwarf lord is still unconscious and Fíli watches with concern as the wizard leans over his uncle now. Gandalf's expression is worried and the prince holds his breath, not daring to hope until Thorin finally stirs. However, even as the rest of his companions sigh with relief, Fíli can't help a stab of bitterness.  
  
His ashânumahâl has ever been a two-edged sword, Mahal's gift tinged with suffering where Bilbo Baggins is concerned. Because the prince can feel exactly how the burglar's heart begins to flutter when Thorin looks his way and that is something Fíli did not need to know. He did not need to know how deeply Bilbo cares about his uncle nor sense the hot flush of attraction underneath the hobbit's skin.  
  
Bilbo still wants Thorin even when the dwarf lord starts to shout again. He rounds on the burglar in a fury because he cannot just say “thank you” like a normal person; instead, he must rehash every single baseless accusation that he has ever made.  
  
Thorin seems determined to hate Bilbo for coming to his rescue and Fíli is ready to strangle his uncle by the time he finishes. The prince isn't sure whether the anger in his gut is more his own or Kíli's; the ashânumahâl always resonates more strongly when their blood is running hot. In truth, it hardly matters since the pair is in complete agreement that this nonsense has to stop. However, before Fíli and Kíli can make good on their fury, Thorin changes everything.  
  
“I have never been more wrong in all my life,” the dwarf lord pronounces as he sweeps Bilbo into a hug and Fíli wants to scream at the expression on his face.  
  
Because that look screams admiration strong enough to match their hobbit's and the prince does not want to believe what his bond is telling him. Fíli does not want to believe that his amrâbulnas could forgive Thorin's doubts so easily.  
  
But the burglar has, the dwarf can feel it, and this realization makes a hard knot of despair bloom inside his chest. Keeping Thorin and Bilbo separated was hard enough when their uncle couldn't stand the hobbit; it will be nigh impossible if Thorin starts to seek their burglar out. Fíli and Kíli cannot hope to match the dwarf lord's courtship, not when they can't offer their own suit publicly. Durin's beard, even if they could, the princes only have their ashânumahâl to tip the balance in their favor – the ashânumahâl that Bilbo still doesn't seem to feel – while their uncle will soon have a kingdom to his name. The hobbit isn't greedy but that's bound to make a difference in his choice.  
  
“Fíli, what should we do?” Kíli whispers softly. His eyes beg for reassurance, but the older prince has no comfort left to give.  
  
Not when his heart is torn between his brother's pain and Bilbo's joy, his ashânumahâl pulling him to pieces where it made him whole before. The feeling hurts, sharper and deeper than the loneliness has ever cut him, and for the first time in his life, Fíli truly curses Mahal's name.  
  
The prince cannot believe that Melkor is the one who marked him; Fíli refuses to believe that he and Kíli bear false karrash as the law would have him do. But why would Mahal bind three souls together only to hide the truth from Bilbo? Why would the Smith choose the princes for this endless misery?  
  
These questions burn within him and yet Mahal does not answer. No one answers and it's almost a relief when Fíli's link to Bilbo suddenly goes dark, the barrier between their hearts snapping back into place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, but the next one should be longer. Hopefully I'll get a bit ahead on editing and be able to switch to weekly updates soon.


	5. Gamekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to get inside of Bilbo's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this fic is 95% present tense, it's not 100% chronological. Just FYI. I probably could have cut this chapter in half, but I figured the length would help balance out the repetition. Chapters will probably go back to my usual length after this.

Bilbo never planned to go on an adventure. The hobbit was minding his own business when Gandalf suddenly decided to recruit him and he still isn’t sure how refusing to join the wizard several times led to thirteen dwarves sitting in his dining room. 

Indeed, Thorin’s company crashes into the hobbit's life like a thunderstorm and Bilbo honestly doesn’t know why he agrees to help the dwarves with their mad quest. Perhaps this impulse is a remnant of the fauntling that Gandalf still remembers; the one who always believed that something amazing was waiting for him past the borders of his home. 

That child dreamed of traveling but Bilbo learned to ignore his wanderlust as he grew older because proper hobbits do not run off into the wilderness to chase a distant wind. He is a Baggins after all and he has almost forgotten his youthful foolishness until Gandalf wakes that dream again. 

Or perhaps it is not the wizard who makes Bilbo long for adventure; perhaps it is the two young dwarven princes who are so very glad to meet their company's burglar. Fíli and Kíli are strangely magnetic despite their bad first impression and in their defense, the brothers try to be better guests than the rest of their companions. Indeed, Kíli and Fíli keep the other dwarves from emptying the hobbit's pantry and defend Bilbo to their uncle and he does not like the idea of them running off to kill a dragon without help. 

Of course, the hobbit will never admit to chasing after a lovely set of dimples or being swayed by some mad wizard so if anyone asks, he prefers to place the blame on Thorin Oakenshield's commanding majesty. 

Whatever the true reason, Bilbo wakes up the next morning in an empty smial and knows that he cannot let the dwarves leave Hobbiton without him. The rest, as they say, is history.

Indeed, Bilbo Baggins joins the quest for Erebor on a wild impulse and it takes less than a day before he regrets his brief insanity. The hobbit has never spent so much time in a saddle and he can barely walk by the time his new company finally stops for the night. When he dismounts his pony, he's so sore that he's limping and while Bilbo doesn't expect to be coddled, he wouldn't mind some sympathy.

However, all the hobbit receives is disdain, at least from Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarf lord seems to hate him for no good reason – that brief moment of charm in Bag End nothing but a fluke – and if Thorin had a problem with hobbits, then he really shouldn't have hired one to be his burglar. 

It's hardly Bilbo's fault that he's never gone on an epic journey before now and he's actually in decent shape considering his years. He's certainly in better shape than most hobbits in the Shire and Thorin Oakenshield should stop being such a snob about his inexperience. Nothing Bilbo does is good enough for the dwarf lord and his endless sneering gets annoying very fast. 

The hobbit is trying his best but Thorin only seems to pay attention when he's doing something wrong. Tying snares: wrong. Packing his pony: wrong. Throwing knives and sewing coats: wrong and wrong again. The rest of Thorin's companions are kinder than their leader but they are not paragons of patience and there are limits to their help.

Bilbo would probably have cut his losses and gone back to the Shire if not for the dwarf lord's nephews. Fíli and Kíli are the nicest of his companions – the only ones who truly seem happy to have the hobbit's company – and Bilbo finds himself wanting to be near them without quite knowing why.

Proper hobbits do not feel the urge to giggle when dwarven princes smile. Proper hobbits shouldn't blush when the archer starts showing off his weapons or feel so very charmed when Kíli brings up all the different ways that their company might die. 

Of course, the latter subject is also rather terrifying even before the younger prince starts to get enthusiastic so Bilbo always turns and flees before too long.

Indeed, that would have been the end of things if not for Fíli. The older dwarf is a master at reining in his brother and when all three of them are together, the world seems a brighter place. Bilbo cannot keep on running when Kíli and Fíli are so happy for just a bit of his attention and he truly enjoys their company; indeed, the first time that the hobbit willingly begins a conversation, the princes are so delighted that he can't bear to leave again. Bilbo can live with his weird impulse to be closer in order to keep the princes' friendship; it's not as though he hasn't had a crush or two before.

For now the burglar simply listens to Kíli's wild stories and argues with Fíli about the best way to cook rabbit, telling the pair all about the Shire in exchange for lessons on dwarvish politics. They talk about anything and everything and soon the hobbit considers them some of the best friends he's ever had. Fíli and Kíli seem to feel the same if the burglar is any judge. The brothers are always ready to support Bilbo against their uncle and comfort him when Thorin's words cut deep. 

To tell the truth, the hobbit is probably half in love with them after only a few weeks together and he's tempted to try to court Fíli or Kíli as the company travels on. Bilbo may not be a warrior, but he has other skills to offer, and his husband would never lack for a home or family.

Yet even when he considers the idea – and he would likely need to do something amazing before Thorin would allow it – the burglar doesn't know how he could choose one prince over the other. He cares too much about both dwarves to have a favorite when they are Fíli-and-Kíli in his mind. 

Of course, these thoughts are little more than flight of fancy at the moment and Bilbo soon learns better than to try.

For when the hobbit happens to ask about Dwalin's wrist tattoo in Thorin's hearing, he receives an impromptu lecture on dwarvish wedding vows. The hobbit had simply wondered what ink made the dwarf's runes shimmer but the answer that he gets almost makes him wish he hadn't asked.

Apparently Dwalin's tattoo is not a tattoo but a sign of the Valar's favor, a great blessing that only the luckiest dwarves receive. 

Fíli and Kíli had mentioned the idea that Aulë linked certain souls together, but Bilbo had dismissed it as silly at the time. Why would the Valar busy themselves with matchmaking when people are quite capable of finding romance on their own? However, it seems that dwarves take this belief quite seriously, which may explain why the princes looked so disappointed by the hobbit's answer at the time. Bilbo must have hurt them with his skepticism and indeed, Fíli and Kíli had not mentioned it again. 

But now the joke is on the hobbit as Thorin explains that his nephews also share such a blessing and are newlywed as well. The brothers that Bilbo has grown so very fond of are not only married, they are married to each other and forbidden from straying on penalty of death.

Truthfully, Bilbo isn't sure which revelation is more shocking. Relationships between siblings are forbidden in the Shire and no hobbit would ever dream of killing over infidelity. Although Bilbo doesn't personally hold with cheating on his partners, people make mistakes and hearts can change; the Thain stays separate from such matters as long as they are consensual for everyone involved.

However, Thorin seems to think that adultery warrants execution and he could not have been prouder of the relationship between his nephews if he had wed the lads himself.

“Their bond is a good omen. No member of my line had been granted such a blessing for two generations before Fíli and Kíli were born and their runes appeared. Show him, my sister-sons. Show our burglar the favor that you have brought upon our house.”

The princes seem reluctant but eventually they give in to Thorin's urging, pulling up their sleeves and showing Bilbo the names upon their wrists. Like Dwalin's mark, their runes shimmer strangely and while he still isn't sure if he believes in destined lovers, the hobbit can't deny that there is something otherworldly here. Something otherworldly and a bit familiar. Although Bilbo cannot read dwarvish writing, he swears that he's seen runes like these before. 

_In fact..._

With some surprise, the burglar realizes that Fíli and Kíli's names look much like his birthmark, the one that had been hidden when his ankle hair came in. The thought is completely crazy but Bilbo can't seem to ignore it and he tries to check his birthmark as soon as he's alone. The burglar sits down away from the group, parting the thick hair on his right ankle as best he can. But if there is any writing on his skin, Bilbo simply cannot tell.

Perhaps he sees a flash of gold or perhaps that's just a freckle and even if the hobbit were willing to shave – the merest thought is completely scandalous – he didn't bring a proper razor with him when he left Hobbiton.

_It's probably just coincidence or you're misremembering. You haven't seen that mark in years,_ the burglar tells himself, shaking off the thought. _You are no one's destiny and Aulë would hardly bind a prince of Erebor to two different people when it's against his children's laws._

Honestly, Bilbo should count himself lucky that he hadn't tried to court either of the princes; he has no intention of being killed over a cultural misunderstanding, no matter how adorable the two young dwarves might be.

The hobbit needs to set his sights on someone else and quickly before he falls too deep. And if there is any member of this company who might take his mind off the princes, surely it would be Thorin Oakenshield. Even with his tiny feet, the dwarf lord is still attractive – even when he's being horrible, he's easy on the eyes. Indeed, Thorin looks much like his nephews would if they were a single person: Fíli and Kíli as distilled by pain and hard-won experience.

However, what makes Bilbo decide that Thorin is the best choice to pin his hopes on is not the dwarf lord's bearing or the fact that his bare wrist should make him safe to woo. What decides the hobbit is simply Thorin's smile, because the way that the dwarf lord is looking at his nephews makes Bilbo's heart skip a beat. 

There is such love in that expression, such endless warmth, and the hobbit has always wanted someone to look at him that way. Sure Thorin kind of hates him at the moment, but Bilbo has never backed down from a challenge – if he had, he probably wouldn't be a burglar right now – and he _has_ admired the dwarf lord from the start. After all, Thorin's insults wouldn't sting so much if the hobbit didn't care.

_I've probably always wanted him and just didn't realize,_ Bilbo tells himself, putting all romantic thoughts of the princes from his mind. Kíli and Fíli are his friends and nothing more. They have never tried to be more and Bilbo has no one to blame for his misconceptions but himself.

Better the hobbit set his sights on Thorin where he might actually stand a chance. A slim chance considering the dwarf lord's current opinion of his burglar, but at least Bilbo shouldn't get executed for making the attempt. 

Of course, the hobbit would rather not get rejected either but there's no reason that he has to begin his courtship right away. Bilbo can set his sights on Thorin while continuing to spend time with his nephews; the hobbit can wait until their uncle finally realizes that he's not useless after all.

He really does want the dwarf lord's admiration, that's the sad part. The more Thorin berates him, the more Bilbo wants to prove the bastard wrong and that urge only becomes stronger when his heart gets involved. 

Now that the burglar is looking, he finds that there is much to like about Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarf lord may be hostile to outsiders but he's also quite protective of those he cares about. He's strong and intelligent and hilariously bad at following directions and when he smiles, the years melt off his face. Thorin shares Kíli's dimples and Fíli's amused exasperation, the princes’ intelligence and easy competence, and Bilbo can see where the brothers get it from.

So while the hobbit doesn’t suddenly fall in love with Thorin – that would be ridiculous – the idea isn’t as far-fetched as it would have been two weeks ago. Indeed, Bilbo soon realizes that he _could_ love the dwarf lord; if Thorin would only look on him more kindly, the burglar could and would fall hard.

Unfortunately, the hobbit has barely come to this realization before Fíli and Kíli are dragging him off to steal from mountain trolls and he really should have known better than to listen to their plan. Despite what Gandalf says, Bilbo isn't actually some kind of burglar, but when the princes look at him like that, he simply can't say no. Fíli and Kíli seem to think that the hobbit can do anything and stealing back the company's ponies from a trio of trolls would certainly be a feather in his cap. Thorin would have to treat him as an equal – or at least a true companion – after that. 

However, while Bilbo agrees to attempt the theft in a fit of optimism, he's never been that lucky and the hobbit can't even be surprised when everything goes wrong. He does manage to salvage the situation before his friends get eaten – and finds several nice swords in the process – but it's touch and go for a while and Thorin looks ready to kill Bilbo himself by the time the company wins free.

All told, the entire night is an unmitigated disaster for both romance and dignity and the situation doesn't get much better when the dwarves reach Rivendell. Thorin spends the entire visit growling and snapping at everyone; he seems to resent Elrond for his assistance and hate himself for needing help at all. 

Indeed, the dwarf lord suspects betrayal behind every friendly gesture even though the elves are nothing but polite to their sudden visitors. Elrond certainly manages to be more gracious than Bilbo was when Thorin and his company descended on Bag End to eat his pantry bare.

The dwarves' host feeds them, heals them, and even names the weapons that they found in the trolls' hoard. Thorin's blade the elf calls Orcrist and Gandalf's he names Glamdring, though Bilbo's own is dismissed as the plainest of the three.

After lunch is over, the dwarves are left to their own devices and they find a corner in which to hunker down. They sharpen their weapons and reorganize their packs while Bilbo goes exploring. Elves have always fascinated the hobbit and while he's here, he wants to see as much of the hidden valley as he can. The burglar may not get another chance.

So Bilbo wanders through open courtyards and arched hallways, admiring the furniture and the paintings on the walls. When he stumbles onto a library, the hobbit thinks that he might pass out from sheer envy; he has never seen this many books in all his life. He could read for days and barely crack the surface of the knowledge gathered here.

However, books are not the only treasures that exist in Elrond's house. Bilbo climbs the stairs to the second level, the wide banister smooth as silk beneath his hand. There the hobbit finds a statue standing guard above a shattered blade. Even broken, the weapon is still beautiful and Bilbo knows he must be looking at a piece of history. The burglar strokes his fingers across the metal, careful not to touch the sharpened edge. It would not do to bleed on some ancient artifact.

With one last longing glance at Elrond's bookshelves, Bilbo makes his way back outside the building. He finds an empty balcony and rests his elbows on the railing, enjoying the breeze as he looks down onto the valley far below. 

“You are not with your companions?”

The hobbit turns to see Elrond walking toward him, the elf's presence almost overwhelming even one on one. Yet there is also something comforting about the lord of Rivendell, something that promises the hobbit a willing ear to listen and share the burdens on his soul.

“To tell the truth, many of them don't think that I should be here,” Bilbo admits to the elf lord quietly. “Thorin thinks that I'm a burden and I sometimes wonder if he's right.”

“Indeed?” Elrond replies, raising one gracefully arched brow. “I have heard that hobbits are quite resilient.”

“I... really?” the burglar asks with some surprise. He didn't think that elves took any notice of his people and even if he's wrong, resilient isn't exactly the first word that comes to mind. Stubborn, insular, fond of food and drink, any of those would be more common adjectives.

“Of course, I have also heard that hobbits rarely leave the Shire,” the elf lord adds with a wry smile. “They love their homes too much for traveling.”

The words are teasing and Bilbo knows that Elrond probably doesn't mean to poke an open wound. But his lack of experience is something of a sore point and he can't help a twinge of irritation; the hobbit has gotten enough contempt from Thorin without being forced to deal with a joking elf as well.

Thus, Bilbo's tone is a little sharp when he replies, “And I have heard that you should never ask advice from elves, because they will answer yes _and_ no.”

Elrond doesn't say anything and for a moment, the hobbit thinks that he overstepped his bounds. If Bilbo is the reason that the dwarves are kicked out of Rivendell then he might as well go home immediately; Thorin will never let his burglar live that down. However, before the hobbit can apologize, the elf lord starts to laugh.

“Resilient and refreshing. Your dwarves do not know what they are missing, Master Baggins, and you are welcome to stay here if you wish,” Elrond says, clasping Bilbo on the shoulder before gliding back inside.

The offer is tempting, the hobbit can admit that. But he gave his word to Thorin and he will not run away, not when their quest has only just begun. So Bilbo returns to his companions, Fíli and Kíli greeting his arrival cheerfully. At least the princes are still glad to see him even if their uncle doesn't care.

Thorin doesn't want anything to do with Bilbo but the burglar is too curious to stay behind when Gandalf says that it's time for the dwarf lord to meet with Elrond. The hobbit slips in behind the wizard, staying in the background so that no one makes him leave. For once Bilbo is glad that Thorin pays him no attention; the dwarf lord is too busy glaring at their host suspiciously and the hobbit is honestly surprised that Elrond still agrees to translate Thorin's map.

That is probably down to Gandalf since the dwarf lord has completely failed at diplomacy. Not good for a king-to-be and yet Bilbo finds Thorin's anger strangely comforting. Because if the dwarf can hate an elf as wise as Elrond then his dislike of his burglar probably isn't personal. 

Thorin's past hardship simply makes him see danger behind every helping hand and Bilbo can understand that wariness. A few of the hobbit's relatives have caused him to be leery of accepting any kindnesses for fear of strings attached. But he wants to show the dwarf lord that not everyone is like that. He wants to show Thorin that the world still has beauty and generosity in unexpected places even if it seems like no one cares. The hobbit wishes that the dwarf would learn to trust him so that he could share in Thorin's burdens and ease the weight upon his heart.

However, Bilbo is no closer to winning the dwarf lord's admiration when the company leaves Rivendell than he was when they arrived. Whatever key can unlock Thorin's heart, the burglar does not have it and he's not sure which is colder: the dwarf lord's gaze or the weather as they start to climb.

Even when the hobbit is walking right behind Thorin, the distance between them might as well be miles and he has no idea how to bridge that chasm now. Bilbo considers asking Fíli and Kíli for advice since the dwarf lord is their uncle, but he can never quite bring himself to say the words aloud. He doesn't want to risk the princes' friendship; what if they think that he's not good enough for Thorin and cut him from their lives? 

Bilbo doesn't think that he could bear to continue on this quest without Fíli and Kíli to support him. He needs their patience, their strength, and their smiles to remind him that this journey is not about glory, gold, or dragon-slaying; it's about giving the brothers and their kindred a place to call their own. 

As much as the hobbit cares for Thorin, he's staying for his nephews. Making his friends happy is far more important than the bruises on his heart.

So the burglar resigns himself to pining until the dwarf lord finally sees him as someone valuable. Bilbo will make do with the scraps of affection he can get and while the hobbit knows that treasuring every moment of indifference is pathetic, such blankness is an improvement over the dwarf lord's usual scorn. Bilbo counts such change as progress towards friendship if not romance and he tries to spend as much time with Thorin as possible while their company travels on.

Unfortunately, the route through the Misty Mountains is incredibly unpleasant this time of year – cold, rainy and steeper than a path has any right to be – and the hobbit seems to earn two frowns for every nod. One step forward, three steps back and Bilbo is grateful for the distraction when Nori, Dori, and Ori suddenly become much friendlier. 

The trio goes from being distantly polite to walking beside their burglar and engaging him in conversation and while Bilbo doesn't understand their change of heart, he doesn't question it. For the first time on this journey, the hobbit has real friends other than Gandalf and the princes – as much as he enjoys their company, Fíli and Kíli can't be with him constantly – and the Ri brothers are surprisingly entertaining when they want to be.

Indeed, Bilbo soon learns that Dori tells the most amusing stories and Nori seems to have a crush on Kíli considering how often he brings up the archer's hair. Or maybe the dwarf is simply jealous since the younger prince's mane _is_ quite spectacular.

After several days of this, the hobbit discovers that Thorin's anger doesn't hurt the way it used to. Bilbo still cares about the dwarf lord but one of his friends is always there to distract him when the pining gets too much. In fact, Ori does a rather wicked impression of Thorin's majesty. It's all posture, flowing hair, and frowning and the first time Bilbo sees the dwarf's performance, he laughs until he cries.

Indeed, Dori and his brothers are great at pointing out their leader's flaws and Bilbo recognizes that most of what they say is justified. But somehow Thorin's weaknesses just make him more attractive in the burglar's eyes. 

The hobbit would never have dreamed of courting the King of Erebor but dreaming of this stubborn cranky asshole is far more doable and now that he's set his heart on Thorin, Bilbo can't seem to let him go.

_It's not as though I have a lot of options. Fíli and Kíli are off limits and if there was a hobbit that I could love in the Shire, I would have been married years ago. Thorin may be a pompous ass at times – okay, most of the time – but I'm not going to miss out on this opportunity. It might be my last chance._

Besides, as weird as it sounds, Bilbo is starting to enjoy the dwarf lord's insults. Thorin has a creative streak when he gets going and the hobbit's friends worry over him so sweetly afterward. Indeed, Fíli and Kíli are quite protective of their burglar and Bilbo thinks their uncle's position is the only thing stopping the princes from shouting a few insults of their own.

When the company runs into some stone giants and the hobbit nearly dies, Kíli actually does shout at his uncle and Bilbo could have kissed the archer if not for that whole forbidden thing. Still, the dwarf lord's expression is priceless. He looks utterly nonplussed, as though he can't believe that actually just happened, and the hobbit has to wonder if anyone has ever called Thorin on his shit before.

_Maybe that's what I've been doing wrong. Forget proving myself through my actions. Maybe I should just yell at Thorin until he gets his head out of his ass._

However, Bilbo doesn't have a chance to test this theory before Thorin's company is attacked. The dwarves are ambushed by goblins while their wizard is off scouting and the hobbit is quickly separated from the rest. He falls into the depths of the Misty Mountains with nothing but his sword to keep him company. Well, actually, his sword, a strange gold ring that he finds in the tunnels, and a crazy monster who's obsessed with eating fish and hobbitses.

The burglar encounters this Gollum fellow while he's searching for the exit, stumbling into the creature’s lair on accident. Bilbo is desperate to return to his companions and the promise of directions to the surface is the only reason he agrees to play a game of riddles now. The hobbit knows better than to make bets with creepy monsters, even ones who look like they could really use a hug. Such bets always end badly in the stories and after Bilbo wins the game on something of a technicality, he can't be too surprised that Gollum doesn't keep his word.

The creature tries to kill him and if the hobbit's new-found ring hadn't been a magic one, he never would have seen the light of day again. It's a close thing even so since Bilbo doesn't know the ring is magic until he trips and it falls onto his finger, a feat that should have been quite impossible.

However, the ring does slip onto the burglar's finger somehow. Between one moment and the next, the hobbit's world turns grey. All color leeches from his vision, leaving only hazy shadows and a sense of wrongness in its place. Bilbo's chest suddenly feels empty – almost hollow – as bile rises in his throat.

The only thing that stops the hobbit from ripping his ring off is Gollum. The creature runs right past him without pausing, screaming about thieves, Bagginses, and a precious until his voice is bouncing off the walls. Gollum doesn't see Bilbo; he _cannot_ see Bilbo, and the burglar needs that advantage if he's going to survive.

So the hobbit follows Gollum as he races through the tunnels, praying that the creature is going the right way. Thankfully the ground does seem to be rising and eventually Bilbo spies natural light up ahead. Although the burglar doesn't know if this tunnel leads onto the correct side of the mountains, at least he'll be outside and right now, that's good enough. Bilbo just wants to remove his ring before he really does throw up.

However, before the hobbit can sneak past Gollum to the exit, loud cries suddenly echo through the tunnels and he looks up to see his companions running by. Everyone is there: Fíli and Kíli, Thorin and Dori and Glóin, Bifur, Bofur, Dwalin and Ori, Óin and Bombur and Nori, Balin, and even Gandalf too.

The wizard must have found the dwarves soon after they were captured and Bilbo is overjoyed to know that his companions are all right. But the hobbit can't get Gandalf's attention as long as Gollum is standing in-between them and the magic of his new ring cuts both ways. Thorin's company disappears from view without pausing; they can't see him either now.

Although Bilbo is pretty sure that the dwarves won't leave without him – Kíli and Fíli would never allow that without protest – he still needs to get past Gollum as soon as possible. The hobbit could kill the creature; in truth, it would be easy. But the thought of stabbing Gollum in the back just seems so dirty and even in a fair fight, Bilbo doesn't think he'd have the heart. Gollum may want to eat the hobbit but he is more pitiful than frightening and he doesn't deserve to die just because the burglar got lost.

_I guess there's nothing for it then. I'll just have to jump._ The hobbit was a pretty decent long jumper in his youth – took home the May Day prize for six years running – and hopefully his muscles will remember their old skill.

Bilbo takes a few steps back from Gollum before sprinting forward, pushing off the stone when he's about a foot away. His leap is almost perfect, almost because Gollum looks up just in time to receive a kick straight to the face. But the hobbit manages to stick the landing anyway and then he's racing toward the exit, Gollum's furious screams chasing him out into the open air.

That first touch of wind upon his face is glorious and he turns toward the fading sunshine like a flower seeking warmth. Although hobbits live in holes, they aren't meant to spend their lives beneath the surface, not as dwarves and goblins do. Hobbits love green and growing things far too much for that.

Bilbo enjoys the breeze for a few seconds before remembering that his friends are probably racing full-speed down the mountain and he needs to run himself if he's going to catch up. So the hobbit picks a direction – directly east seems reasonable knowing his companions – and starts running as quickly as he can. Even if he has somehow lost the others, the burglar doesn't want to be standing by the tunnels when the sun goes down.

However, Bilbo hears voices less than a minute later and when he gets closer, he's relieved to see that he has managed to catch up after all. Indeed, the hobbit arrives on the scene just as Gandalf finishes counting heads and then turns to Thorin worriedly.

“Where is Bilbo?! Where is our hobbit?” the wizard asks. 

Bilbo waits a moment to watch the dwarves' reactions and while there is a bit of grumbling, most of them seem more worried than annoyed. Not Thorin, of course, but Dori, Ori and even Bofur look concerned, while Nori apparently thinks that the burglar is capable of winning free of the goblin caves himself. In contrast, Fíli and Kíli seem prepared to charge back into the mountain on the off-chance that he needs them and Bilbo cannot keep the princes waiting after that.

The hobbit pulls off his ring and steps into the clearing with a smile, almost toppling over when the brothers leap into his arms. Fíli and Kíli hug him fiercely, one dwarf on either side, and Bilbo can't help but hug them back. 

Indeed, the sick feeling caused by wearing his ring has already begun to dissipate beneath the princes' smiles and even through an inch of leather, the warmth of their arms seems to ground Bilbo in the world again. Fíli and Kíli are on his side, the burglar cannot doubt this, and perhaps that's why he does not back down when Thorin glares at him.

“Why did you come back?” the dwarf lord asks, his tone suggesting that he would have preferred to see the hobbit dead instead. Which, honestly, is bullshit. Bilbo wouldn't be here if Thorin hadn't shown up on his doorstep and offered him a contract; if the dwarf lord doesn't like his burglar, then that's his own damn fault. The hobbit has given his best effort and right now, he doesn't really care if Thorin thinks his best is good enough. He is a full-fledged member of this company and the dwarf lord needs to treat him with some measure of respect.

“Look, I know that you don't like me,” Bilbo growls as his patience finally snaps. What follows is a rant to match any one of Thorin's, weeks of bitterness rolling off the hobbit's tongue. Because the dwarf lord is being a hypocrite of the worst kind when he accuses his burglar of missing Hobbiton and Bilbo is just done with everything.

He's done with this quest, with being threatened, and with the endless doubts of Thorin Oakenshield. Yet even now, the hobbit cannot give up on the dwarf completely and he's not sure whether it is a threat or a promise when he ends his speech with this declaration: “You're going to like me someday, Thorin, wait and see.”

Now that Bilbo's anger is fading, he feels a little embarrassed about going off like that. But the hobbit cannot truly regret his actions when Kíli and Fíli are beaming at him and he sees something close to admiration on their uncle's face at last.

_I guess yelling was the answer after all,_ Bilbo thinks with some amusement. Of course he needed to bash Thorin over the head with words to make the dwarf see reason; he's a stubborn bastard after all. Bilbo should probably have yelled at him much sooner, but he's been operating by the Shire's rules of conduct until now. Although his home is far behind, the habits of a lifetime are not easily laid aside and hobbits do not court their beloveds with blunt truths and arguments; they would sooner walk through the Harvest Market wearing shoes.

The only reason Bilbo abandoned that propriety was extreme vexation and yet, now that he has, the burglar feels oddly free.

Bilbo has never quite fit in with his kinsfolk. He did his best to be normal – to be a proper Baggins – and he truly does appreciate the comforts of his home. But the hobbit can no longer deny that he has a wild streak as well. 

Normal hobbits do not run off with dwarves. Normal hobbits do not befriend a pair of princes or fall in love while on the road.

Most of Bilbo's kin are content to live and die without ever traveling more than a few leagues from their homes. However, while the hobbit's life had been safe and comfortable, it never made him very happy and stuffy old Bilbo Baggins has no place on this adventure now. 

He's done with propriety, at least by Shire standards. His friendship with Fíli and Kíli started the process and now the burglar will finish it because he has an opportunity for romance and true happiness at last. Let the neighbors gossip; Bilbo has a chance with Thorin Oakenshield and he is sure that any judgment will be mixed with jealousy.

However, before the hobbit can make his true intentions known – for this, Bilbo will actually think about his phrasing – a piercing howl echoes through the trees.

“Wargs!” Gandalf shouts and when the burglar looks back toward the Misty Mountains, his heart goes cold with fear. There must be at least a dozen wargs dashing toward Thorin's company and the dwarves are in no shape to fight them off.

“Run!” Thorin shouts. 

His companions turn and sprint in the opposite direction, dodging around the trees while wargs snap at their heels. Bilbo nearly stumbles when one of the creatures leaps over his head and cuts him off from the others, the hobbit’s arms flailing wildly as he skids to a halt. He looks around for his companions but the dwarves haven’t noticed their burglar’s peril and there is no time to shout. 

Bilbo will just have to save himself and he draws his sword with shaking hands. The hobbit may not have skill or experience on his side but he has luck and desperation. He thrusts forward blindly as the warg lunges at him and he’s nearly knocked off his feet when his blade pierces the creature’s jaw.

_I can't believe that worked!_ Bilbo thinks, gaping down at the warg’s twitching body until another howl reminds him that he’s not out of danger yet. Then the hobbit yanks his sword free and follows after his companions, none of whom have noticed that their burglar fell behind. _Of course no one was watching when I killed a monster singlehandedly. That's just my luck these days._

Unfortunately, there are another dozen wargs where that one came from and Bilbo is still a few steps behind the others when Gandalf shouts for them to climb.

Thorin’s company does as ordered, even Bombur proving quite agile when his life is on the line. Soon thirteen dwarves and a wizard are perched high in the branches and their burglar follows moments later, Fíli and Kíli grabbing his coat to help him climb. The princes pull Bilbo into their tree just as another warg jumps toward him, the beast's jaws snapping shut only a few inches from his feet.

The hobbit and his friends are safe for now but the wargs will not give up. They circle around the trees and scrabble at the lower branches, their claws digging furrows deep into the wood. The wargs seem determined to bring down their prey through sheer persistence and to make matters worse, this pack does not hunt alone.

Bilbo feels a shiver of terror run through him when a pale orc rides out of the darkness atop a warg as white as snow. Kíli and Fíli gasp loudly from the next branch over and when the hobbit glances at their uncle, Thorin looks horrified.

“Azog? It cannot be,” the dwarf lord whispers in a voice like shattered glass.

The pale orc is supposed to be dead. Thorin remembers that battle well – indeed, he can't forget it – and the Defiler should not have survived the loss of his left arm. But the dwarf lord cannot doubt what he is seeing; that is Azog the Defiler, one of the greatest enemies that his kin have ever known. The pale orc beheaded Thorin's grandfather on the field of battle and Thrór's death must be avenged.

Not that Thorin is in any position to fight his enemy. His company is trapped, his body is exhausted and a dozen wargs are circling the ground beneath his feet. 

Indeed, the situation seems quite hopeless and when these wargs destroy the dwarf lord's kinsfolk, their deaths will be his fault. Thorin can't prevent it; he can't even borrow Kíli's bow to shoot at Azog, not when his sister-son's quiver was emptied in their flight. All the dwarf can do is glare at the pale orc helplessly.

But then Gandalf turns his magic to a more useful application than his usual smoking habit, sparks igniting every pinecone he can reach. The wizard and his companions use these missiles to great effect since the wargs fear fire as they fear little else. The dwarves cheer loudly as their enemies turn tail, their triumph all the sweeter for the frown on Azog's face. However, this reprieve is short-lived; using fire in a forest wasn't Gandalf's best idea and the trees in which the dwarves took shelter soon begin to fall.

One by one, the pine trees topple over. Thorin and his companions are forced to leap from branch to branch until all of them are sitting in a single pine tree, its roots creaking loudly from their weight. On one side the dwarves face a long, long drop to the rocky flats below, and on the other side stands Azog with his pack of orcs and wargs.

For a moment there is silence as the dwarves and orcs look at each other and then the company's last refuge starts to fall. The tree tilts over the edge of the cliff until it's nearly horizontal, only panicked scrambling keeping several dwarves from falling to their deaths. But the pine's roots won't hold much longer and Thorin's kin cannot climb to safety while Azog is standing there. 

Death waits for the dwarves in both directions and yet, if Thorin has to die, he chooses to die fighting as a son of Durin should.

The dwarf lord pulls himself onto the tree trunk and draws his sword, holding Orcrist high as he begins to run. Thorin charges through the fire and the smoke, his eyes fixed on Azog's smirking face. The dwarf lord will destroy his enemy once and for all; he will avenge his grandfather, his father, his brother, and every other warrior who was slain at Azanulbizar. Every life that Azog stole will be paid in blood at last.

However, Thorin is so focused on the Defiler that he doesn't watch the pale orc's warg and this is a mistake. The white warg leaps forward when the dwarf nears Azog, an enormous paw smashing him down to the ground. He struggles to his feet only to catch Azog's mace straight to his face and the blow knocks Thorin onto his back again. The warg's jaws close over his shoulder, the creature's teeth piercing through his armor and into the flesh beneath. The dwarf lord struggles futilely until a lucky blow strikes the warg across the face. Then the creature throws Thorin through the air and he lands heavily on a nearby crop of rock. 

The dwarf lord is defeated, his sword falling from numb fingers, and all he can think as his vision starts to dim around the edges is, _How could I have failed so utterly?_

When an orc stalks over to kill Thorin, something in Bilbo snaps. He cannot let this happen. He cannot watch the dwarf lord die. So the hobbit charges forward, tackling the orc away from Thorin and slamming his sword into its chest. No one was expecting that – not even Bilbo – and he drives Azog's pack away from Thorin with the sheer strength of his rage. The burglar bares his teeth and growls, daring the Defiler to hurt his dwarf lord now.

Of course, one small hobbit isn't going to stop Azog. However, Fíli and Kíli join Bilbo moments later and somehow the trio manages to turn the tide. The princes and their burglar protect Thorin until their company is rescued by giant eagles – an odd turn of events, to be sure, but not one the hobbit minds.

Fíli, Kíli, and Bilbo are swept up by the same eagle and the princes quickly fall asleep on that wide feathered back. The burglar takes comfort from their presence, leaning against the brothers for warmth as he watches the scenery fly by. Although Bilbo is exhausted, he can't seem to settle down; he's still buzzing with battle nerves when the great birds finally land.

Truthfully, Bilbo can't believe he did that. He can't believe he took on an orc pack and survived. Maybe he's more suited for adventure than he thought.

Indeed, the hobbit has more than proved his courage and while he didn't save Thorin in order to win glory, he is pleased by the dwarf lord's reaction once he finally wakes up. Sure there's some yelling at first and Bilbo kind of wants to smack Thorin, but then the dwarf lord takes the burglar in his arms. He admits that he was wrong about the hobbit; he was wrong and he is sorry and the apology is everything that Bilbo has imagined it would be. 

This is what the burglar has been hoping for for weeks now and so he ignores the niggling feeling that it isn't right at all.

Bilbo ignores the part of his heart that still feels furious and gutted rather than appreciated, the little voice that whispers to him, reminding the hobbit that a bit of praise doesn't make up for weeks of scorn. But the burglar's qualms are overpowered by his joy at recognition and the warmth of the dwarf lord's fierce embrace. This is Bilbo's best chance for romance and he's not going to waste the opportunity due to a few lingering doubts. 

The hobbit is so focused on Thorin and their future life together that he doesn't notice the dejected faces staring at his back. Fíli and Kíli trade miserable expressions even as their companions cheer for Thorin and the burglar they adore.

Only Nori notices that the princes do not join the celebration. He watches them worriedly as Thorin pulls Bilbo even closer because he knows the pain they're feeling. The dwarf has felt an echo of that longing every time he sees Dwalin take Ori in his arms.

However, Nori’s sorrow is mitigated by his little brother's happiness. He cannot regret Ori's marriage, he won't, and he worries that Fíli and Kíli have no such balm to ease their pain. Thorin is not Bilbo's amrâbulnas; the dwarf lord could find love in other caverns and it isn't fair that his sister-sons cannot even plead their case.

Nothing about this situation is fair and this isn't the first time Nori has cursed the laws that bind them all. Kings should not separate what the Valar linked together and the dwarf doesn't know how long his princes' spirits will survive.

If Fíli and Kíli's ashânumahâl feels anything like Nori's then Bilbo's every blush and stutter must be a dagger in their hearts. They can do nothing but watch as their uncle charms their hobbit and judging by their expressions, it is killing them inside. At this rate, Fíli and Kíli will lose hope long before Thorin's company reclaims the Lonely Mountain and then Nori's one slim chance to finally have Dwalin would disappear as well.

Truthfully, it's a fool's hope. It has always been a fool's hope, but now that his princes have made him dream of better, Nori won't go down without a fight. If the law is to be changed then Bilbo and Thorin cannot be allowed to fall in love; Kíli and Fíli must have reason to keep hoping until their quest is done. For they are the darlings of the Sigin-tarâg and Thorin should listen to their request as he would no other dwarrow's plea. 

Together Fíli, Kíli, and their uncle might change dwarvish law forever since he who holds the Arkenstone commands all of Mahal's children whether they agree with him or not. While the more hidebound khazâd will probably grumble about breaking old traditions – might cry of sin and ruin – they will be forced to obey Thorin's proclamations anyway. 

So Nori pulls Dori and Ori aside to discuss their plan of action once the company makes camp that evening, the trio leaving Fíli and Kíli alone to lick their wounds for now.

“I don't know how they stand it,” Ori murmurs to his brothers as they watch Thorin and their burglar smile at each other sappily. “Bilbo is completely smitten and seeing Dwalin look at any other dwarf like that would kill me, anyone but you.”

“I know, little brother; that's why I agreed to help Fíli and Kíli in the first place. That’s why we’re going to help them win the love that should be theirs,” Nori replies. “But now that Thorin has changed his tune, we might need more allies. I still won't risk telling Dwalin – he's too loyal to our leader and I will not make him choose. But some of the others might be more sympathetic. What do you think, Dori? Anyone come to mind?”

His brother considers the question for a moment before answering. “Not Balin, he follows the law above all else and until it changes, he will be no use. Glóin and Bombur are too happy in their ashânumahâl to believe that anyone might struggle, but I think that Óin might be convinced to listen and it would be useful to have a healer on our side."

“All right then. Feel out his loyalties as subtly as you can. Ori and I will work on prying Bilbo out of Thorin's arms.”

The latter task turns out to be the harder of the two. Thorin refuses to let the hobbit out of his sight as the company hikes eastward, worrying over Bilbo's safety as he never has before. In contrast, convincing Óin to help the princes is actually quite easy. Dori takes the healer aside as soon as possible and while he never repeats that conversation for his brothers, the other dwarf has joined their conspiracy by the time the sun sets twice.

Fíli, Kíli, and their allies are still trying to separate the lovebirds a few days later, the princes growing more disheartened with every failed attempt. Although Thorin has yet to begin a formal courtship, the dwarf lord is clearly working up to the question and judging by Bilbo's smiles, the hobbit will accept.

So Fíli can't deny a certain satisfaction when Azog finds the company's trail at last. He never thought he'd be happy to be chased by an orc pack, but the news of his old enemy seems to snap Thorin from his infatuation. For the first time in days, the dwarf lord sends Bilbo back to scout and his sister-sons take full advantage of the opportunity.

Fíli and Kíli follow Bilbo on his scouting mission, moving to flank their burglar when he climbs back down the hill. The princes have missed their amrâbulnas; they have missed his conversation and the dimples when he laughs.

They stay with Bilbo as he makes his report and then maneuver him to the other side of the campfire. Kíli drags the hobbit down beside him and starts blithely chattering while Óin and the Ri brothers run interference so that Thorin can't interrupt. 

Not that Bilbo is trying to escape the princes' company. No one sees deceit beneath the archer's smile. Kíli has perfected that expression over decades of doing what he shouldn't and it helps that his natural state is completely guileless. So the burglar just gives Thorin a helpless shrug before turning to listen to the younger prince's story and Óin quickly draws the dwarf lord's attention to a discussion of supplies.

Fíli sits down next to his amrâbulnâs and for the first time since they left the Misty Mountains, his world feels right again. He is comforted by Bilbo's presence even though he can sense a faint thread of disappointment when the hobbit glances at his uncle and he knows that the struggle for Bilbo's heart has only just begun.

However, tonight Fíli has hope that Thorin will not win the coming battle. Because Bilbo is quickly caught up in Kíli's story and the faint awareness of disappointment is replaced by an echo of the princes' happiness. A faint echo but it is there in the pulse of Fíli's heartbeat and the dwarf cannot believe that the burglar is completely unaffected by the bond they share. He won't believe it when doing so might drive him crazy and send his little brother falling to despair.

Of course, the hobbit’s crush on Thorin is hardly the only problem weighing on Fíli's mind, what with Azog and his orc pack and Smaug the Terrible. Bilbo’s choice will hardly matter if the company perishes long before their journey ends. 

_Uncle's quest was not supposed to be this dangerous, enough to earn a hero's blessing but not this endless struggle for our lives._

The days that follow do nothing to ease the prince's worry as the dwarves are forced to run from dawn to long past dark. Despite this endless travel, the warg pack just keeps gaining on Thorin's company and Fíli can't shake the feeling that Azog is just toying with his prey.

When fatigue finally does force the dwarves to rest, the prince's sleep is fitful. He wakes up every few hours, twitching to alertness as howls cut through the night. Not only howls, but growls and snapping branches, the sounds chasing Fíli deep into his dreams. The dwarf is almost as tired in the morning as he was when they made camp and he's not the only one who's dragging when the dwarves start to run again.

Everyone is exhausted, even Kíli's endless optimism starting to wear thin. The mood grows even darker when Bilbo returns from his scouting later on with news that another monster is roaming through these rocky tors, one too large to be another warg. If Thorin's company cannot outrun Azog, they cannot hope to deal with a new enemy as well.

Some of them are almost ready to surrender when Gandalf offers a solution, giving his companions a ray of hope amidst their desperation. Because the wizard knows the owner of a nearby homestead and while he isn't certain of Beorn's welcome, anything must be better than falling into Azog's hands.

So the dwarves run and run and run until the crags and trees give way to meadow and they see a sturdy house built upon the plain. 

“This way!” Gandalf shouts. He turns toward the house and his companions follow, the sight of their destination giving them a second wind. But the dwarves are not safe yet and they run all the faster when a chorus of howls splits the air behind them and a massive bear bursts out of the trees.

Fíli has never seen such a creature; the bear's claws are as long as any of his daggers and its eyes burn fiercely with unbridled rage. At this point, Beorn's house is only a few more yards away, but it's a near thing even so. The company crowds against the door, beating on the wood in panic until Nori thinks to turn the handle. Then the dwarves stumble inside, slamming the door shut with the bear right on their heels. 

Kíli, Dwalin, Bofur and Ori struggle to hold the door against the creature while Fíli sets the lock, shoving a bar across the door before he backs up warily. The prince half expects the bear to come bursting through the window, but despite the itch between his shoulder blades, the beast just walks away.

Fíli breathes a sigh of relief then, his eyes seeking out his amrâbulnâs now that the danger's passed. The dwarf may be able to feel Kíli, but he likes the visual confirmation and he needs to know that Bilbo made it through as well.

Indeed, his brother has the same idea, though Kíli is more hands on in his approach. The archer wraps one arm around Fíli's waist and uses his other hand to pat Bilbo down for injuries, hiding his worry under the guise of brushing off the hobbit's coat.

“Um, Kíli? I think I'm clean now,” the burglar says when this goes on a little long, a flash of consternation pulsing through their bond.

These flashes have become more common since the Misty Mountains, small flickers of emotion touching the princes' hearts before their link goes dark again. There doesn't seem to be a pattern to it, fear and fondness coming through in equal measure, though Fíli considers both a gift. Feeling Bilbo's terror is better than feeling his attraction to their uncle, the brothers flinching in sync when their amrâbulnas sends a smile Thorin's way.

However, the dwarf lord is busy discussing the next stage of their quest with Gandalf and his sister-sons don't need the help of their conspirators to keep Bilbo close this time. Fíli and Kíli just take the hobbit's arms – one prince on either side – and lead him to the far side of the room. Beorn has turned part of his house into a stable and the other dwarves are laying out their bedrolls in hay piles for the night.

“Stay with us, we missed you,” Fíli and Kíli tell their hobbit, speaking naught but truth for once. “We want to know what happened after we lost you in the mountains; we were so worried when we couldn't find you later on.”

“Oh, I couldn't. It was nothing special,” Bilbo says bashfully. “I barely even had to fight.”

It takes some convincing before the hobbit agrees to tell his story and he keeps fiddling with his pockets at the start. But eventually Bilbo falls into a rhythm and the princes find themselves hanging on every word while several of their companions gather round to listen in. Kíli and Fíli gasp with horror when the hobbit describes the goblin that attacked him, how he'd fought and fallen down into the mountains' heart. The brothers sigh with pity when Bilbo describes the creature that he found there and they crow with admiration at their burglar's cleverness.

When the hobbit speaks of his panicked flight to the surface, Fíli and Kíli can't help but flinch even though he clearly made it and the archer has to hug Bilbo once his tale is done. He's gotten good at hugging Bilbo without touching skin to skin, keeping his hands covered and the hobbit tucked beneath his chin.

“We're so happy you survived,” Kíli murmurs with a besotted grin. His feelings are so obvious that Fíli glances around quickly to ensure that no one is watching them. But the rest of their companions are busy with their own evening preparations, Bilbo's audience having drifted off once they knew his tale was done.

So Fíli allows himself to smile at his amrâbulnas the way he always wants to and the hobbit blushes quite prettily in return. That expression makes the dwarf wish that he and Kíli could show their true hearts more often but he knows that's foolishness.

_There's no point in wishing_ , the prince tells himself firmly. _There is only doing and we're on this quest to make such confessions possible, to help every dwarf who cannot answer their heart's call._

Fíli and Kíli are committed to this course of action even if Bilbo never returns their feelings or he chooses to become their uncle's consort after all. To give up would be selfish when they are not the only ones who suffer from ashânumahâl that exist outside the law.

_Look at Nori. He gave up everything in order to make his little brother happy and there must be others who have done the same. Scores of others who hide the truth of whom they love._

Fíli and Kíli are committed to their quest no matter what and yet, seeing the light shining in his brother's smile, the prince truly hopes that they find happiness as well. This is peace, here with his amrâbulnâs beside him. This is a perfect moment and all Fíli wants is a lifetime of such domesticity. The three amrâbulnâs curl up beside each other in the hay and the brothers fall asleep still smiling. 

Gandalf wakes his companions early the next morning. He gathers them together in the foyer and tells them that it's time to meet their host. Or rather, meet him again, several of the dwarves trading worried glances when the wizard explains that the bear from yesterday was Beorn's other form.

“It'll be fine,” Gandalf promises. “Beorn despises dwarves but he hates orcs even more and I've always found him more reasonable when he in human form. Although, that said, it might be best if we try not to startle him.”

Two by two, the wizard leads his companions out into the garden where Beorn is chopping wood. The skin-changer greet their arrival with clear consternation, his frown deepening as each new dwarf is introduced. But it appears that Gandalf was correct; while their host may not like dwarves, he still offers them his hospitality.

Beorn prepares a feast for Thorin and his companions so that they can sate their hunger and gives them supplies for the next stage of their journey; the skin-changer even replaces some of the dwarves' lost weaponry and Kíli is quite glad to have a new set of arrows, elvish-made though they may be.

Truthfully, Fíli would have liked to spend several days in Beorn's hall; the entire company could use a break after their trek through the Misty Mountains and a few more meals like that breakfast would not go amiss. However, the skin-changer is full of dire warnings once he learns of their destination, his council adding to the dwarves' own sense of urgency.

Thorin's company cannot afford to waste any time if they are to reach Azsâlul'abad before Durin's Day arrives. Still, the prince is glad they stopped, if only for an evening. He would not have gotten his perfect moment otherwise.

That memory keeps Fíli's spirit bright when they set off towards Mirkwood. He knows there are many miles left to tread, but those miles disappear much faster beneath the hooves of Beorn's ponies than beneath tough dwarvish boots. Even the grey drizzle that begins on the second day can't dampen Fíli's mood and while Bilbo chose to ride with Thorin that morning, he promised to join the princes later on. While the hobbit spends most of that afternoon staring at their uncle, Fíli and Kíli have learned to take their victories where they can.

Indeed, the brothers' campaign to keep Bilbo and Thorin separated continues apace during this new segment of their journey, the task seemingly easy and insurmountable in turns. Although the dwarf lord can usually be distracted with some urgent business, their burglar is rather less cooperative.

He is stubborn, their amrâbulnas, and Fíli admires that about him even as he stymies the princes' plans at every turn. Only the help of their allies and some truly drastic measures allow the dwarves to interrupt their uncle whenever he tries to speak his heart.

On one memorable occasion, Kíli throws himself into a patch of brambles in order to stop Thorin from confessing the true strength of his feelings; Fíli spends three hours picking thorns out of the archer's hair once the company makes camp.

“Completely worth it,” Kíli mutters to his brother when Bilbo starts fussing over him as well. The older prince can't disagree. That was a close one; the dwarf lord nearly managed to begin a formal courtship before Kíli broke the moment and the archer might have been too late if their uncle hadn't made his intent so obvious.

Thankfully, Thorin _is_ obvious. While the dwarf's majestic stare has been known to end many negotiations in his favor, the expression has always been an open book to those who know him best. Indeed, Thorin truly does like Bilbo, his earlier disregard transmuted into honest admiration by the hobbit's bravery. But Fíli's uncle hasn't spent weeks listening to his burglar's stories or learning about his people; he doesn't deserve the attention that Bilbo lauds him with.

Not that the hobbit actually cares if Thorin is worthy of him. Bilbo seems to have forgotten all the pain the dwarf lord caused. Fíli and Kíli do their best, but the burglar appreciates their uncle's flaws as much as his attractions and his smile only seems to grow more fond. The princes don't know which is worse, listening to their amrâbulnas discuss Thorin's many virtues or watching the pair fall asleep under the same cloak at night. Chastely, of course, since the dwarf lord has not officially begun to court their hobbit, but together all the same.

Perhaps the worst thing is feeling Bilbo's disappointment and knowing that they've caused it. After all, Thorin is not a bad dwarrow and he is truly smitten; Fíli and Kíli know their uncle would treat his consort well. The princes must acknowledge that even as they try to break his heart.

Thorin will recover. Without a karashumrâb of his own, the dwarf lord has a world of options that his sister-sons do not. All the brothers want is to stand on equal footing before Bilbo makes a promise that he can't take back. This doesn't seem too much to ask. If the princes can just keep Thorin from speaking his intentions for a few more weeks, then they'll still have a chance.


	6. Ges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would probably go faster if I stopped making minor changes to previous chapters. But oh well.

Thorin's company reaches Mirkwood two days later and their first sight of the forest is far from comforting. The sunlight disappears into shadow only a few feet past its border and the dwarves do not relish a trek beneath those trees.  
  
Yet the Elven Road is the only safe path through the forest and they do not have the time to walk around. So Thorin and his companions start unpacking Beorn's ponies while Gandalf scouts the way ahead. The wizard disappears for a few minutes and when he returns, he is as close to panic as the dwarves have ever seen. Gandalf shouts for his horse, taking the reins from Nori and leaping into the saddle with a billow of grey robes.  
  
“But where are you going?” Fíli asks, grabbing the wizard's stirrup before he can ride away. “You were supposed to help us fight the dragon if he wakes up too soon!”  
  
“And I will,” the wizard promises. “Wait for me on the overlook before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe and do not enter that mountain without me. I will meet you there before Durin's Day arrives. We will win back your people's homeland, this I swear to you.”  
  
With one last word of warning, Gandalf wheels his horse around and gallops to the north. Despite the wizard's promise, Fíli can't help wondering if they'll ever see Gandalf's face again. Anything that can make a wizard look so worried must be ill news indeed.  
  
However, the dwarves must look to their own survival first. Their quest has not changed; their goal still lies on the other side of Mirkwood and the elves in that forest hate their guts. Thorin's company will need to tread carefully in order to avoid attention and it's not as though the Sigin-tarâg are known for their subtlety. Dwarvish boots are better suited to stomping round than tip-toes, but Fíli and his companions will simply have to do their best. Given the level of diplomacy that Thorin has exhibited thus far, getting caught by Thranduil may well be suicide.  
  
So there is an edge of wariness about the dwarves when they walk into Mirkwood, the mottled dark closing in behind them like they've entered a different world. One that does not look kindly on their people; this is not the sort of place khazâd belong.  
  
Despite their unease, the next few days pass peacefully. The company's steps are guided through the dark by shining elvish stone and indeed, Gandalf had promised that the Elven Road would keep them safe. But the cobblestones are slowly covered by leaves and rotting branches, by fungi and all manner of sick and dying things. The evil of Mirkwood is tenacious, a creeping sickness that even elvish magic cannot hold back entirely.  
  
With every league that passes, the Elven Road grows dimmer or perhaps the light is simply disappearing bit by bit. Because the canopy is solid overhead and while it has only been a few days, Fíli feels as though he hasn't seen the sun in weeks.  
  
Everything about this forest is twisted and unnatural, from the smallest stone to the strange insects in the trees. Indeed, Thorin's company is glad for the supplies that Beorn gave them because they find nothing edible on their march through Mirkwood; even the water smells like poison and the dwarves test it carefully before choking that muck down.  
  
When Fíli and Kíli scout ahead on the third day, the princes discover that the Elven Road is flooded. All that remains is a few rotted posts where a bridge once stood. Thorin's company is forced to make its way across with the aid of vines and floating tree trunks, every step slick and treacherous.  
  
“Careful, careful.”  
  
“Grab my hand.”  
  
“Watch your step, that log is rotten,” the dwarves call back and forth.  
  
“I've got you; we're all right.”  
  
“Come on, brother. Almost there.”  
  
Their makeshift bridge is neither straight nor sturdy and the mood is tense until every member of the company has reached the other side.  
  
Once back on solid ground, the dwarves take a few moments to regroup. They resettle their packs and wipe algae off their boots while Glóin and Balin search for the Elven Road; Thorin's company needs to find the path before setting off again.  
  
“Thorin, look!”  
  
Bilbo's urgent whisper draws all the dwarves' attention. He points toward the tree line and Fíli feels his breath catch when he turns to look. There is a great white stag standing on the riverbank, its horns stretching toward the sky and a strange wisdom glowing in its eyes.  
  
 _That is no natural creature,_ the prince thinks with something close to awe. Fíli has heard legends of such spirits, living guardians of the world's most sacred places, but he never thought to see one here. He didn't think Mirkwood was the sort of place worth saving but perhaps there is some beauty in this forest after all.  
  
Fíli doesn't speak for fear of scaring off the creature, wonder glowing brightly in his chest. However, the moment is shattered when Bilbo's voice rings out again. “Thorin, what are you doing?”  
  
Kíli had set aside his bow and quiver to help Bofur with his pack and now his uncle has taken up the weapon, aiming an arrow straight at the white stag's heart. Apparently Thorin does not see the same beauty his sister-sons, he simply sees fresh meat. It has been some time since his companions ate a proper dwarvish feast and the dwarf lord would see them taken care of first before all things.  
  
However, the white stag's calmness is deceptive and it leaps into motion as soon as Thorin lets the arrow fly. The projectile clatters harmlessly against a tree trunk as the spirit disappears and Fíli can't deny that he's relieved.  
  
Killing such a creature would not make Arda better and indeed, Mirkwood seems much colder now that the stag has gone.  
  
“Blast,” Thorin curses before handing the bow back to Kíli with a scowl. The dwarf lord orders his companions to their feet but doesn't actually wait for them to obey him before marching off into the forest, muttering about elves and wasted time. All the other dwarves can do is scramble off the ground and run after their leader as quickly as they can.  
  
The dwarf lord is on a mission and by the time he realizes that his steps are falling on soft dirt instead of stone, it's much too late to turn around. The company has lost the path and lost the river. There are no signs to show them where they've been or where their road should lead.  
  
Indeed, navigation is impossible with nothing but trees in all directions so the dwarves can only guess at east and stubbornly press on. Of course, Thorin being Thorin, he would have done that anyway.  
  
Fíli marches through the trees until he starts to hear strange whispers in the distance, soft voices that he can't quite understand. But with every step, the words get a little clearer and a little more hypnotic. The voices sound like friends, like old comrades he's forgotten, and perhaps that's why the prince cannot just ignore the murmurs in his ears.  
  
Every member of Thorin's company has started hearing voices, though each dwarrow is tormented by different whispers than the rest. The ghosts tell Bombur to run home to his family, warning of a danger that threatens all his kin. They tell Glóin that his wife is dying while tempting Bifur and Dori to explore the deeper wood. Nori and Ori urged to kill each other, one single death winning the heart of their amrâbulnas for good. A dagger to the throat would end the need for sharing and Dwalin too is goaded toward claiming what is his.  
  
Only Thorin stands in the dwarrow's way. Thorin who upholds the law despite the pain that splits his people's hearts asunder; Thorin who can hear nothing but the Arkenstone right now. The song twines around his mind and freezes him with longing, leaving him wide open to Dwalin's searching eyes. The warrior can see a dozen weaknesses already and he's practically salivating as he imagines the rush of blood across his hands.  
  
Dwalin isn't the only dwarf who hears Mirkwood cry for violence. Fíli wants to sink a blade into his uncle's back, a fitting end for the bastard who is trying to steal the princes' hobbit. Thorin dares to steal his sister-sons' amrâbulnas and now the dwarf must die.  
  
Even Kíli, who despite his skills has never cared for battle, now has a feral smile dancing on his lips. The archer's blood sings for violence and he grins at his brother widely when he meets his brother's gaze. They should kill Thorin, kill anyone who dares to stop them from taking Bilbo now. Because the hobbit is theirs and it is time to claim him, to hold their burglar down and force him to acknowledge the bond between their souls. To tear Bilbo open until he screams or begs for more.  
  
As soon as this thought crosses their minds, Fíli and Kíli snap back to their senses. The princes trade horrified glances as lust changes into nausea almost instantly. Forcing their amrâbulnas is unthinkable and the very idea of it makes their hearts cry out in shame.  
  
Something is very wrong here – very, very wrong – and when the brothers look to their companions, they are not comforted. Because the other dwarves are staring into the distance fixedly, their eyes unfocused and their hands creeping toward their weapons inch by inch.  
  
When Fíli and Kíli try to bring their companions back to reason, the other dwarves react with anger and the situation soon devolves into an open brawl. Nori throws the first punch and Fíli throws the second, Kíli and Dwalin stepping in to back up their amrâbulnâs. Soon the forest is ringing with grunts and violent curses, only the older prince's iron control keeping his daggers on his belt. Fíli aches to kill but instead he strikes out with fists and elbows, reveling in each punch and bruise upon his skin.  
  
None of the dwarves are watching their surroundings and they don't realize that a greater danger is approaching until a swarm of massive spiders drops down from the trees. The creatures fall upon Thorin's company without mercy, encasing the dwarves in webbing before they can react.  
  
The princes and their friends are trapped but the spiders do not knock their prey unconscious before dragging them away. The spiders prefer their meals alive and struggling, the scent of fear inflaming the monsters' appetites.  
  
Fíli _is_ afraid. He has always hated being helpless and his terror grows stronger when his faint link to Bilbo suddenly goes blank again. Their burglar has disappeared from Fíli's senses and the prince doesn't even know if the hobbit has been captured, whether he's free or trapped or about to be swallowed by some spider's gaping maw. Yet, in truth, it isn't Bilbo's death that Fíli truly dreads; the dwarf is terrified of the moment when he feels Kíli's life snuff out. That loss would destroy him utterly. For while his hobbit still refuses to accept their ashânumahâl, Fíli cannot remember a time when his little brother was not twined within his heart.  
  
The prince starts to struggle against his bonds, fighting with the webbing that binds his legs and arms. He can hear Kíli shouting and the archer is so panicked, so frightened that Fíli's reassurance doesn't reach him – what little comfort that the older prince can give. Yet even as the archer's fear builds to a crescendo, Fíli hears a spider shriek and Kíli's panic turns into surprise.  
  
Surprise and a hint of triumph from the third piece of their trio as the prince's connection to Bilbo snaps back into place. The dwarf has no idea what is causing that strange blankness – it's almost as though their hobbit simply stops existing – but he's too relieved to care.  
  
“I've got you. Just hold on,” Bilbo says and then Fíli is falling.  
  
He hits the ground awkwardly, struggling out of the spiders' webbing as quickly as he can. His companions are scattered around the clearing, the last few dwarves sinking to the ground as Bilbo cuts them free. Fíli glances into the canopy, hoping for a sign of the hobbit. But even though their burglar must be up there somewhere, the prince's eyes can't pierce the gloom so he just moves to help his brother to his feet.  
  
“Bilbo really is full of surprises, isn't it?” Kíli murmurs as Fíli pulls him into a hug, the tightness of his arms matching the strength of his relief.  
  
“Yes, he is,” the older prince agrees. “Speaking of our burglar; do you see him anywhere?”  
  
“He killed the spider that was going to attack me. Right in the nick of time. But I haven't seen him since,” the archer tells his brother. “I think he's still up in the trees. What about the others? Is Thorin okay?”  
  
Even if the dwarf lord is their rival in love, neither of the princes want to see their uncle harmed. So Kíli and Fíli are grateful to discover that the rest of their companions appear to be all right when they look around the clearing. The other dwarves are tired, grumpy, and covered in bits of webbing, but things could have been much worse and the flickers of emotion from Bilbo prove that he's still alive for now. However, before Fíli and Kíli can go looking for the hobbit, their enemies regroup.  
  
Another dozen spiders charge the clearing but this time the dwarves are ready for them. Without the haze of Mirkwood's evil to dull their reactions, no beast can match the skill of Thorin's company. Nori ducks a spider's fang and Dwalin stabs the creature while Ori shoots a rock into another spider's eye. One of the beasts tries to attack Bombur but Fíli, Kíli, Bifur and Bofur tear its legs off. Then the older prince whips out a dagger and stabs the spider that's trying to jump Thorin from behind.  
  
The dwarves slice through their enemies like molten steel through rock and the spiders that survive are quickly driven back into the trees. Thorin's company is on the edge of triumph when a horn rings out suddenly and a new player joins the fight.  
  
A squad of elves declares its presence with a volley of arrows, the remaining spiders shrieking in pain as the missiles find their targets. The elves of Mirkwood show no mercy, their hands flashing like quicksilver until the last few creatures turn and flee. Then the warriors turn their bows on Thorin's company.  
  
“Don't think that I won't kill you, dwarf,” their leader growls. “It would be my pleasure.”  
  
“You! You're Thranduil's whelp. Legolas or something,” Thorin snarls back, his fingers tightening on the hilt of his blade. “I remember you.”  
  
“And I remember you, Thorin Oakenshield,” Legolas replies. “My father will want to speak with you.”  
  
The elf barks a command and his warriors start rounding up Thorin's companions in the center of the clearing. The wood elves disarm the dwarves and while Fíli and his kin protest stridently, none of them are crazy enough to attack their captors. Not with half a dozen twitchy looking archers holding arrows on them now.  
  
One of the warriors shoves Fíli forward when he doesn't move fast enough. The elf smirks as the prince stumbles into Bombur and he really, really, really, wants to punch the bastard in the face. But his anger turns to panic when he hears his brother scream.  
  
“Help! Fíli!”  
  
The dwarf spins around just as Kíli is suddenly yanked into the trees. One of the spiders must have come back for seconds and the younger prince was easy prey once his weapons were taken by the elves.  
  
“Kí! Hold on, Kíli! I'm coming!” Fíli shouts. He tries to run after his brother but his captors grab his arms, holding the prince in place as he struggles wildly. If Kíli dies here, if his amrâbulnas dies here, then there will never be peace with Mirkwood's elves as long as Fíli lives. He will see this forest burn in order to repay his losses, see the throne of Thranduil shattered for bringing harm to what is his.  
  
Fury washes over Fíli like an avalanche and yet, the emotion is not solely his. The dwarf has a sudden flash of Bilbo somewhere in the trees, of the hobbit hating Mirkwood's spiders as he has never hated anything. No one is allowed to hurt Kíli – _no one is allowed to take his precious_ – and their burglar's rage resonates inside of Fíli, fear and anger burning in his veins. The prince doesn't know which feelings are his and which belong to his amrâbulnâs, and in truth, he doesn't care. Fíli just screams out his brother's name again.  
  
Kíli hears his shout and struggles harder, kicking at the spider desperately. The archer doesn't want to die here. He doesn't want to die in some dank forest without ever kissing Bilbo like he's dreamed. Because things will be different with both of his amrâbulnâs beside him and Kíli wants so desperately to finally feel complete. Someday the prince will tumble Fíli and Bilbo down onto a bed together, their love for each other blessed by lord and law alike, and that is a future well worth living for.  
  
The archer kicks the spider again, his hands scrabbling for a rock with which to fight the creature off. However, all he feels is dirt and his odds aren’t looking good until an elfine suddenly leaps to his rescue. Kíli is so relieved that he could kiss her – metaphorically, of course. The prince _is_ quite impressed by her blade work even if she refuses to give him a weapon of his own. He wouldn’t need rescuing if he had an actual sword.  
  
But he still smiles at the elfine when the last spider has been slaughtered and she pulls him to his feet. Whatever the circumstances, Kíli still owes this elf his life.  
  
“Careful, brother. Someone might think you’re smitten,” Fíli teases when the elfine leads Kíli back into the clearing. The older prince knows that his brother is simply thankful for the help but it's either tease or break down crying in relief.  
  
“I am not!” Kíli protests loudly. His indignation has always been adorable and his expression puts an instant smile on his brother’s face. Indeed, Fíli isn't the only one who grins at the archer’s antics; he sees several of the elves hide chuckles and if the prince could barter Kíli's dimples toward their freedom, Thorin's company would be on its way in three seconds flat.  
  
At least Bilbo seems to have escaped the roundup; the hobbit is nowhere to be seen as the elves lead their prisoners deeper into Mirkwood. Although their connection has gone dim again, Fíli doesn’t think that his amrâbulnas is injured and hopefully their burglar will be able to help the dwarves win free.  
  
However, the prince and his companions have no chance to escape before reaching Thranduil's palace. When Legolas leads them through the gates, the dwarves are met by a twisting twilight gloom. Fíli thought that all elves lived in trees and sunlight but it seems that Thranduil’s people prefer the darkness and most of the elf king’s palace is carved from root and stone instead.  
  
Several wood elves stop and stare as the dwarves are frog-marched through their kingdom, the elves’ expressions ranging from scorn to curiosity. Fíli returns these looks in kind; Mirkwood’s elves were always painted as villains in his uncle’s stories and so far, Thorin’s slant seems accurate.  
  
Indeed, Legolas has been treating them as trespassers rather than guests and this shows no signs of changing now. The elves lead the dwarves down into the dungeons and then force them to remove their cloaks and armor, their captors annoyingly thorough when it comes to weaponry. Fíli lost half of his knives when the company was captured and his guard removes three more before shoving him inside his prison cell.  
  
The prince still has one more dagger in his boot and he could try to take a hostage if an elf came close enough. But that would be a desperate gambit – one with slim chance of working – and none of the guards are stupid enough to stand right by his cell.  
  
In fact, most of the dwarves are left to rot while Thorin is dragged before the elf king and that meeting does not go well at all.  
  
When Thorin summarizes the conversation for his companions afterward, Balin sighs despondently and even Fíli has to a wince. Whatever he thinks of the elf king, telling Thranduil to die in a fire was not his uncle's finest moment and it will probably take drastic measures for the dwarves to win free now. But the prince searches every inch of his prison without discovering a weakness – not one that he can exploit with the tools he has on hand. So Fíli sends his brother a nudge when the flame-haired elfine from the forest walks by Kíli's cell.  
  
Although this Tauriel is clearly loyal to her king, she seems curious about Thorin's company and she was one of the elves who hid a smile at Kíli's outrage earlier. Indeed, it doesn't take much for the archer to draw her into conversation and while she is probably too clever to give up Thranduil's secrets, it can't hurt to have a friend within these halls.  
  
The dwarves will need an ally if they're going to get out of here before Durin's Day arrives. Even the smallest sympathy might make a big difference and listening to Kíli charm Tauriel makes Fíli chuckle quietly.  
  
If his brother had talked to Bilbo like this then the hobbit would be love with them already but Kíli has never been as charming when he cares. The archer always tries too hard with the ones who really matter; that's why Thorin thinks the younger prince is something of a dolt.  
  
Of course, Kíli has also left a trail of broken hearts behind him, dwarrowmaids and lads alike sighing with disappointment at his karashumrâb. Fíli's brother may not look like a proper dwarf but few people can resist that enthusiasm and everyone knows that the line of Durin often gains their true beards later on. Maids of men aren't any better – apparently they think him pretty – and with a bit of luck, elfines will prove susceptible to the archer's grins as well.  
  
However, while Fíli eavesdrops on Tauriel and his brother's conversation with a fair bit of amusement, Kíli's other amrâbulnas is not so pleased at all.

 


	7. Haded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still plugging away. Once I get the rest of this fic edited, my post will switch to every week instead of just most weeks.

Bilbo had slipped on his ring and followed the dwarves after they were captured, sneaking inside the elvish palace just before the doors were barred. He watched Thorin and the elf king growl insults at each other, his heart sinking as that discussion quickly went downhill. Truthfully, the hobbit thought that Thranduil made a couple valid points and it would have been easier for everyone if the dwarf lord hadn't rejected the elf king's bargain out of hand.  
  
However, Thorin couldn't trust Thranduil's word, not after the elf king's treatment of his people. Indeed, he made sure that Thranduil knew exactly what the dwarf lord thought of him and in so doing, bought his company a hundred years' imprisonment. Which meant that it was up to Bilbo to save the day again.  
  
So the burglar followed Thorin and his guards back into the dungeons, staying hidden as the dwarf lord was locked away with all his kin. There seemed to be one ring of keys for the entire prison and when Thranduil's jailer took it down into the cellar, Bilbo followed carefully. The hobbit didn't actually have a plan beyond stealing the keys and releasing his friends, but apparently Yavanna had a soft spot for halfling burglars. Because the elf king's cellars opened onto a river that flowed through Mirkwood to the Long Lake and a score of empty wine barrels would carry the dwarves straight to their goal.  
  
Assuming, of course, that Bilbo could sneak Thorin's company past the cellar guards somehow. But the Valar really were looking out for Durin's Folk tonight; the wood elves were having some sort of celebration and while the keeper of the keys was clearly reluctant, the other elves convinced him to join their drinking soon enough.  
  
Bilbo waited in the shadows while the guards tossed back cup after cup of wine and as soon as they passed out, he grabbed the keys and ran. The hobbit returned to his companions quickly, but when he reached the dungeons, he discovered Kíli flirting with an elf-maid and his urgency was replaced by indignation almost instantly.  
  
Ten minutes the burglar has been stuck here, listening to the two of them blather on and on. While Bilbo was running around Thranduil's palace, risking his life to help his friends escape, Kíli has just been chatting with his captors as though he has no cares at all. The prince appears to have forgotten that time is of the essence; he's too busy talking about Fire Moons and smiling at this Tauriel like she's the best thing he's ever seen.  
  
Honestly, this is ridiculous. How can Kíli flirt with an elf in front of Fíli? It's not like that relationship could happen, not when infidelity of any kind is supposed to be a death sentence. Thorin had been very, very specific on that point in their discussion earlier.  
  
Of course, Kíli being Kíli, he probably just thought that Tauriel was pretty and didn't bother to consider the consequences of what he's doing now. But his brother should have stopped him, shouldn't he?  
  
 _Unless Fíli doesn't mind,_ a traitorous voice whispers softly inside the hobbit's mind. _Maybe the princes like to share._  
  
Bilbo shakes off that thought immediately. Although trios aren't completely unheard-of in the Shire, such relationships are rare and that's hardly the sort of thing that one assumes in proper company. So even if dwarvish law allowed it – and that seems unlikely – the hobbit could drive himself crazy pining for the princes when they haven't shown any signs of being interested. That way lies madness and Bilbo has a perfectly acceptable suitor in Thorin, one who finally seems to return his feelings after weeks of offhand slights; the burglar doesn’t need to be thinking about Fíli and Kíli now.  
  
Thorin cares about him; that much is obvious even if the dwarf lord hasn't managed to speak the words aloud. Bilbo can wait. He's waited this long, hasn't he?  
  
And while the thought of actually having Thorin is a little daunting, the hobbit will get used to the idea. He'll get over his nervousness just as he's getting over the twinge in his heart when Fíli and Kíli turn those brilliant grins his way. Because Bilbo isn't jealous, the very thought is ludicrous; it's simply the family resemblance twisting him around.  
  
When Kíli and Tauriel finally finish their conversation and the elf-maid leaves the dungeon, the hobbit goes straight to Thorin's cell. He removes his ring and the world snaps into focus, a surge of relief running through him as that strange grey limbo disappears.  
  
“Bilbo! You're all right!” the dwarf exclaims as he reaches through the bars. He clasps Bilbo's hands and the delight on his face chases the burglar's last few doubts away.  
  
“I'm going to get you out of here,” Bilbo promises as he holds up his stolen keys. The hobbit unlocks the door to Thorin's cell and pulls it open before leaning in and kissing the dwarf lord on the cheek. Although neither of them has spoken any formal words of courtship, Bilbo knows where he stands and he wants Thorin to know his heart as well.  
  
But when the burglar pulls back, the dwarf lord is staring at him blankly and his courage falters. Maybe Thorin didn't mean it; maybe Bilbo misread the signs somehow.  
  
“Come on then,” he mutters, turning away to hide his burning face. “We don't have much time.”  
  
However, the hobbit has barely taken a step before the dwarf lord grabs his arm. Thorin spins Bilbo around and leans in to kiss him properly. The dwarf's lips are warm against his, hungry and yet softer than the burglar expected, and his chest is wonderfully firm beneath the hobbit's hands. He holds Bilbo closes and kisses him until his head is spinning pleasantly and he really doesn't want to separate. But the hobbit has to breathe eventually, his cheeks flushing when the dwarf lord smiles down at him.  
  
“I do hope you'll let me court you,” Thorin murmurs and Bilbo can only nod.  
  
“That... that would be lovely,” the burglar stammers before a subtle cough from the next cell over reminds him where he is. “But, um, we really should be going. The elves will notice their missing keys eventually.”  
  
Thorin steals one more kiss from the hobbit before releasing him. Bilbo quickly unlocks the other cells and then leads his companions down into the cellar. The burglar explains his plan for them all to float to Laketown but instead of being thankful, the dwarves start arguing. Indeed, Bilbo can't help feeling a little miffed by the lack of trust they show; empty wine barrels may not be the most comfortable way to travel but at least Thorin's company is getting out of here.  
  
Fíli and Kíli in particular could have looked more pleased. It's not like the princes had been doing anything productive before Bilbo won their freedom. But the pair doesn't even bother to argue with the others; they just huddle together and stare at the hobbit miserably.  
  
Bilbo doesn't know that he's the reason for their sorrow. How can the dwarves be happy when they saw their uncle kissing their amrâbulnas and they know a formal courtship can't be far behind? Thorin kissed Bilbo and his sister-sons felt it, the flashes of pleasure that slipped through the hobbit's barriers pouring salt across the wound.  
  
Fíli and Kíli are losing to their uncle in a battle that he doesn't even know he's fighting and the princes don't know how much more their hearts can take.  
  
Every member of the Sigin-tarâg knows that their world isn't built on fairness and no khazâd expects the Valar to offer charity. But Kíli never imagined that Mahal could be so pitiless. Kíli never wondered if the Valar were enjoying his misfortune before this journey started and yet the archer is seriously starting to suspect that this might be the case now.  
  
The idea gnaws at Kíli even as Thorin ends the argument, ordering his companions inside the empty barrels with a glare. The thought burns even brighter when an alarm starts to sound through Thranduil's palace and the company's path to Esgaroth is blocked. Because of course there's a bridge of stone built across the river, the sluice gate at its base slamming shut just before the dwarves arrive. Thorin curses as his barrel runs into the metal and Kíli wants to join him; their grand escape is over before it even started and the elves who guard the gate will never let the prince's kin pass willingly.  
  
Thorin's company is trapped like weasels in a hole, trapped and waiting to be dragged back to Thranduil's cells again. Indeed, Legolas is already leading a score of warriors down the riverbank to grab them when, as though to prove that the day could actually get worse, a horde of orcs suddenly pours out of the trees.  
  
At their head stands Bolg, the eldest spawn of Azog, and he grins ferally at the sight of his prey. The orc barks a command and his pack surges forward without mercy, cutting down the elven guards in seconds before focusing its gaze on Thorin’s company. Those eyes are filled with hate enough to drown in and Kíli knows that this is it. Without weapons, armor, or solid ground beneath their feet, the dwarves can't even flee. Slaughter is the only option but something inside the prince’s mind shouts, _Nê! Not while I still breathe!_  
  
If the archer dies here... if Fíli and Kíli die before their mission is completed then nothing will ever change. The khazâd will go on pining for loves that cannot be and without Bilbo, without the princes' amrâbulnas, even eternity in Mahal's hall would be naught but misery.  
  
So Kíli leaps to the bank of the river with a strident battle cry. If the company's only chance is to run, then he will make that happen. He will open the sluice gate or fall in the attempt.  
  
The first orc charges toward him and the prince ducks as a spiked mace whistles above his head. Kíli kicks his foe into the river before leaping back when another orc tries to gut him with a spear. He dodges several blows, one after another, while waiting for an opening.  
  
However, the prince's companions have not been sitting idle and moments later, an orcish weapon flies past Kíli's head. The sword buries itself in his enemy’s chest and the orc's expression is almost comical as it collapses to the ground. Kíli flashes a quick smile to his brother – who else could that have been? – and Fíli snaps back a short salute before taking out his last dagger and slicing another orc from ear to ear.  
  
By now the elves have joined the battle but Bolg is keeping Mirkwood's guards well-occupied and another wave of orcs rushes at Thorin's company. The dwarves struggle to fight them off while Kíli grabs the sword his brother threw. He yanks the weapon free and then decapitates the next orc with one clean swing. The prince races to the top of the stairs, carving a bloody swathe through his enemies. The orcs try to stop Kíli but he's almost to his goal now; soon the sluice gate will be open and Thorin's company can flee. However, when the archer reaches out to grab the gate lever, his world suddenly dissolves in agony.  
  
Kíli screams then and the noise slices through his amrâbulnâs like they've been shot as well.  
  
Bilbo doesn't know why that cry cuts him so deeply. The hobbit only knows that he is terrified when he looks up and sees Kíli lying on the stone above him with an arrow in his thigh. The younger prince is barely moving and Bilbo's panic is mirrored in Fíli's eyes.  
  
However, before either of them can run to the archer's rescue, Kíli drags himself back to his feet. The dwarf uses the last of his strength to pull the lever, opening the sluice gate and then jumping toward the river down below. It's more of a fall than a leap, but the archer lands in the barrel that Fíli is holding for him. Kíli has to bite back another scream as the arrow snaps in half, the point digging deeper in his thigh.  
  
Only his brother's solid strength keeps the archer conscious and even then he can't concentrate on anything but his injury. A battle rages down the river without Kíli's participation, orcs and elves attacking everyone in sight as the younger prince holds onto his barrel and does his best not to puke.  
  
Fíli is forced to push his brother out of danger more than once; elvish arrows and orcish daggers coming much too close for comfort. The older prince guards Kíli fiercely while keeping one watchful eye on Bilbo to ensure that their burglar doesn't fall behind. The hobbit is the only member of their company who isn’t riding in a barrel and Fíli can't help thinking that his amrâbulnas will slip beneath the water's surface if he looks away too long.  
  
So the older prince is feeling rather frayed by the time Thorin’s company finally manages to outpace its pursuers, both orcs and elves alike. The respite is welcome and the dwarves breathe a collective sigh of relief as they paddle toward the shore, although Fíli doubts this peace will last. If the orcs have already chased his uncle this far, they’re unlikely to give up.  
  
However, the orcs will soon be the least of Fíli's worries if he doesn't treat his brother's injury. The shared strength of amrâbulnâs is also their shared weakness and Kíli is fading fast. The older dwarf can feel the strain through their bond already, a burning ache in his own leg where his amrâbulnas was shot. The pain fluctuates as Kíli struggles to block out their connection, the archer trying to protect his brother even now. But the princes have never hid their emotions from each other and Kíli is only partially successful at dampening his agony.  
  
Even then, the hurt is strong enough to make Fíli lightheaded and for once he's actually grateful that Bilbo cannot feel the ashânumahâl as the princes do. At least the hobbit won't have to share their suffering.  
  
Indeed, Kíli's energy is fading much faster than it should and he is barely conscious when the dwarves get to the riverbank. He stumbles and almost falls on his way up the shore, groaning weakly as the older prince helps him sit down on a rock. Both brothers grit their teeth when Fíli pulls out the arrow, wicked barbs leaving fresh gouges in the archer's thigh. Blood flows down Kíli's leg, dark with black flecks that disappear upon a second look.  
  
Even so the wound is ugly and Fíli quickly slices a few strips off his tunic with which to stop the bleeding. He presses his hands against the wound, murmuring reassurances when his amrâbulnas flinches at the pain.  
  
“It's all right. You're all right,” Fíli whispers, bolstering his brother's strength as best he can. He forces himself to believe the words so that Kíli will not doubt them and the relief on the archer’s face is worth the hint of lie. Fíli isn't lying if he makes his promise true.  
  
Once the bleeding finally slows, the prince cuts off another piece of cloth and starts to tie a proper bandage. He focuses on Kíli, doing his best to ignore Thorin as he paces back and forth. Their uncle is doing nothing to hide his impatience and his foul mood is wearing on Fíli’s nerves. The dwarf lord should be worried about his younger sister-son, not angry about the delay that his injury is causing – they wouldn’t have made it this far if not for the archer’s bravery. In truth, Thorin is more of a father to Kíli than Hothor ever had the chance to be and while their uncle has always been stern, he's never seemed uncaring until now.  
  
But the dwarf lord barely gives Fíli time to secure his brother's bandage before he chivies his companions to their feet, the dwarf lord driven by an urgency that he can't quite explain.  
  
Although Durin's Day is quickly drawing nearer, missing that moment would not be the end of everything. Thorin's company could spend a year in the Iron Hills if need be and their burglar could certainly be convinced to stick around.  
  
 _My burglar,_ the dwarf lord thinks a little smugly, remembering the way that Bilbo had melted in his arms. Thorin intends to court the hobbit as soon as possible, to shower his beloved with jewels and gifts and gold. He will give Bilbo everything that the hobbit might desire once his kingdom is returned. Perhaps that is why the dwarf lord feels such urgency. He knows that he will need to send his hobbit into danger and he doesn't know if he'll have the heart much longer. Thorin doesn't think he could send his betrothed to face a dragon on his own.  
  
Yet Azsâlul'abad is calling him. The Arkenstone is calling and while Thorin truly means to court Bilbo, he cannot begin as he desires until the gem in his hands. He cannot come to Bilbo as a beggar; his pride will not allow it when the hobbit's bravery has earned him so much more than that. The dwarf lord must have the Arkenstone before his dreams come true.  
  
So Thorin shoves the sweetness of Bilbo's lips from his mind and hardens his heart against the pain on Kíli's face. His younger sister-son cannot be allowed to slow them down, not this close to the mountain; Thorin will make up for his harshness once their family has reclaimed its rightful place again.  
  
Perhaps with a wedding gift since he couldn't give Fíli and Kíli one when they were married, a treasure to match the shining marks upon their wrists. Once he is crowned King Under the Mountain, Thorin will be able to give his sister-sons any boon their hearts desire and he will be as generous as his grandfather's throne allows.  
  
Indeed, when a Lakeman stumbles upon the dwarf lord's company a few minutes later, Thorin sees their meeting as a sign of Mahal's favor. Sure the man seems more inclined to shoot the dwarves than offer them a ride upon his barge, but the dwarf lord doesn't care.  
  
Here is a way to sneak inside of Laketown without being challenged by the city's master, one that will allow Kíli to rest his injured leg. Thorin has heard stories of the Master from his cousin Dáin and while he should be able to barter with such greed if necessary, he thinks it would be best to avoid the man instead. Even if the price of secret passage is every coin that his companions carry in their pockets, this silver will be repaid ten thousand times once Azsâlul'abad is won.  
  
Thus, Thorin tells Balin to give the man whatever he requires. He does not have time for bargaining and a few extra silver coins in exchange for speed is a fair trade in his mind when every step brings him closer to his homeland and the gem that should be his.  
  
The Arkenstone’s light shimmers brightly in the dwarf lord's memories. Thorin used to stare at that gemstone when he was a dwarrowling, his eyes drawn to the shining star embedded in his grandfather's throne. The King's Jewel is unmatched in all the world and this treasure occupies his thoughts as the bargeman's boat moves slowly toward the heart of Esgaroth.  
  
None of Thorin's companions are willing to interrupt his brooding, not even Bilbo, although the hobbit glances at the dwarf lord more than once. He's feeling insecure again – despite Thorin's words of future courtship and that one lovely kiss, the burglar isn't quite sure where they stand now and he doesn't want to force his presence on the dwarf lord when he's preoccupied. Instead, Bilbo settles down next to Fíli and Kíli in the middle of the barge.  
  
He feels better when he's near the princes, somehow more secure together than apart. The hobbit can't explain the sense of comfort since the archer's obvious agony also leaves him sick at heart. Kíli is barely even responding to his brother's worried fussing and Bilbo actually misses the archer's boundless vigor. That had been overwhelming but this is so much worse.  
  
The prince's energy and optimism are part of what makes Kíli Kíli and the lack of those bright smiles leaves the burglar adrift. He feels as though he took a step forward and his foot found air instead of earth.  
  
Every time Kíli winces with the movement of the water, Bilbo ends up rubbing his own leg in sympathy. The hobbit is hardly conscious of the action. He's too worried about the archer to realize what he's feeling and Fíli is too preoccupied with Kíli to notice that Bilbo's walls are slipping down.  
  
Although the younger prince grumbles at his brother, he's only getting worse and when Bard orders their company to hide inside the barrels, the archer can barely stand. He huddles in his barrel and struggles to stay conscious, his gorge rising when Bard covers the dwarves with fish and smuggles them into town.  
  
All this blood and death can't be helping Kíli's injury and the prince does his best to keep his bandage clean. But there's nothing for it when Bard sneaks Thorin's company into his house via the privy, filthy water soaking into the archer's clothes. Now Kíli is dirty, wet, and wounded, the cold water soothing against his fevered skin. The dwarf has never felt like this, like he's burning from the inside out, and it's a relief to sit again.  
  
Kíli huddles against the window as Bard and his three children start handing out dry clothes. The prince should probably stand up and get his own set of clothing but he simply doesn't have the energy to move.  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
When the archer raises his head, he sees Bard's eldest daughter staring down at him. Sigrid, her father called her, and her expression is sincere. She seems so honestly worried that Kíli finds himself touched by her concern and he tries to smile reassuringly.  
  
“I'll be fine,” Kíli tells her. “I'm simply tired. My kin and I have traveled a long way from our home.”  
  
“Are you sure?” the girl replies. “That bandage on your leg looks like it covers a nasty injury and I'd like to help you if I can.”  
  
“Thank you, but that will not be necessary,” Fíli says as he walks up beside Sigrid. The prince knows that she doesn't truly mean his brother harm but he doesn't want a stranger anywhere near Kíli while his amrâbulnas is injured. So the dwarf places himself in between Sigrid and the archer, edging her out of the way as politely as he can.  
  
“You should help your siblings. I will see to my brother,” Fíli tells the girl and with an understanding smile, she leaves the pair alone.  
  
The older prince doesn't relax until Sigrid is out of earshot and then he leans forward to murmur quietly, “Seriously, Kíli. _Are_ you all right?”  
  
“Don't worry, Fí. It hurts but I'll survive,” the archer reassures him. Kíli honestly isn't sure about the latter statement but his brother is worried enough already; he doesn't need the added stress right now. So Kíli holds back his pain as best he can and tries not to wince as his brother helps him change into dry clothing, cloaks and tunics carefully positioned to cover his nakedness.  
  
By the time the princes finish, the rest of their companions have gathered around Bard's table. Sigrid and the younger girl are handing out bowls of soup while the bargeman goes downstairs.  
  
Thorin's company had paid for blades as well as passage, but when Bard lays a bundle on the table there is no steel inside. The weapons that the bargeman offers to Thorin and his companions are either mockeries or insults; even true dwarven merchants would have spit upon these tools.  
  
“What is _this_?” Thorin asks scornfully. “We paid for proper steel, not fishing hooks and hammers.”  
  
“Give my silver back,” Glóin demands, beating his fist against the table. Dwalin and Nori look ready to riot and if this turns violent, Bard's family will suffer for his generosity. Of course, Thorin and his kin are hardly going to hurt children, but the implied threat has its uses and indeed, the bargeman holds out his hands in plea.  
  
“I know these weapons are rough and crude,” he says, watching the dwarves warily. “But they will protect you better than your fists and you will not find any iron-forged blades outside the city armory. The Master of Laketown guards his power jealousy.”  
  
“The armory, you say?” Thorin murmurs, an idea sparking in his mind. If all proper weapons in this city are kept under lock and key, then the dwarf lord will simply have to commit a bit of thievery. Thorin and his kin must have steel in case they are forced to fight the dragon and there is no dishonor in avoiding a one-sided bargain whenever possible. If the dwarves cannot negotiate from a position of strength, then Thorin would rather not negotiate at all.  
  
So he cuts his companions off with one sharp gesture, their outrage reduced to minor grumbling as the dwarf lord bows. “Our apologies, Bard. We _are_ grateful for the assistance you have offered and we will not impose upon your family any longer than we must. My companions and I will take our leave as soon as our gear is dry.”  
  
“Although I appreciate the gesture, you will need to wait for dark,” Bard replies. “There are spies watching this house and guards on every dock.”  
  
“Spies?”  
  
“The Master is not fond of me.”  
  
Bard doesn't offer a more detailed explanation and Thorin doesn't care enough to press. The division within Laketown's power structure may be useful in the future, but he's not particularly interested in the city's politics. All he cares about is reaching Azsâlul'abad and taking back his throne again.  
  
Instead of asking questions, the dwarf lord takes the bargeman at face value. Spies or no, the cover of night can only aid his mission and so Thorin and his companions settle down to wait.

 


	8. Gimon

The hours pass slowly, thirteen dwarves and a hobbit keeping themselves occupied as best they can. Some dwarves talk, some listen and some doze, while their leader falls to brooding and Fíli tends to his brother with Óin's help.  
  
Now that he has time, the prince wants to clean Kíli's wound properly. He asks Sigrid for a strip of cloth and some hot water while he and Óin roll up the archer's trouser leg. Fíli removes the bandage with some effort, his amrâbulnas wincing sharply as the bloody fabric sticks to his skin. Kíli's injury does not look much better, strange black-flecked blood still seeping from the wound. When Fíli looks to Óin, the healer can only shake his head, washing the gash thoroughly and then helping the prince wrap up his brother's leg again.  
  
Once that task is finished, Óin moves to sit by Balin and Fíli is left rather at loose ends. He paces back and forth, asking Kíli if he needs anything every twenty minutes until the archer can't help but roll his eyes. He loves his amrâbulnas, he really does, but the pain in his leg isn't helped by Fíli's hovering.  
  
Kíli will manage somehow. He has to, so he will. Thorin doesn't need to know how weak the younger prince is feeling now.  
  
If his uncle realizes the truth then he might order his sister-sons to stay behind when the rest of their companions go to face the dragon. The dwarf lord has already shown his impatience with Kíli's injury and the archer hasn't spent weeks watching Bilbo fall in love with Thorin only to falter now. If Smaug still lives, Kíli and his brother must be there when he wakes. They must be there to fight the creature that stole their people's legacy.  
  
So the archer paints a smile on his face to try and cover up the pain. Kíli smiles because he won't allow himself to cry when Fíli is already fraying around the edges, his worry a dull ache inside the younger prince's chest.  
  
Both of them are suffering and their companions hate to see it. Those dwarves who have amrâbulnâs of their own see their worst fears realized and even those who don't cannot miss the change in Kíli's energy or the dismay in Fíli's eyes.  
  
However, the other dwarves can't help their princes. Even Óin's skill is limited without his herbs and ointments and Thranduil's elves stole everything when Thorin's company was captured in the wood.  
  
“Lass, can you assist me?” Óin asks Bard's eldest daughter, hoping that the girl may know where he can find more supplies. But while Sigrid is willing to help, she does not recognize the herbs that he describes. Either the Lakemen do not have such plants or they use different names and without them, the healer cannot even try to ease the archer's pain. Óin hasn't felt so useless since Azanulbizar, since death and suffering nearly overwhelmed him and he failed to save the princes' father from his injuries.  
  
“It's not your fault,” Bofur tells the older dwarf as he sits down at his side. “Those damn orcs are the ones to blame for Kíli's suffering and once we reach the Lonely Mountain, you'll be able to do more.”  
  
“I hope you're right. I really do,” Óin replies despondently. “But if Smaug has torched the storerooms then our prince has little chance, not if his symptoms truly point to what I fear. We're going to lose both of them, Kíli and his brother, but Thorin hardly seems to care.”  
  
“Maybe he doesn't realize how badly Kíli's injured,” Bofur says optimistically. The miner could be right, but Óin isn't the only dwarf who's worried about their leader's state of mind.  
  
“I do not like this plan,” Dwalin mutters to Nori and Ori quietly. The younger dwarf is patching up their tunics while his husband and his brother try to turn some of Bard's tools into decent weaponry. “We are not thieves to skulk about at nighttime and steal the things we need.”  
  
“Speak for yourself,” Nori retorts, though he relents when Dwalin glares. “I'll admit that this isn't Thorin's style. But we do not have the coin to barter so I see no other choice.”  
  
“Perhaps Thorin means to repay the Master once Azsâlul'abad has been retaken,” Ori offers hopefully. “From the stories that you’ve told me, there should be gold enough. We could buy all of Laketown with the treasure that the dragon stole from us.”  
  
“Maybe. But there would be no need for subterfuge if that were his design,” Nori tells his brother. “I've heard that the Master of Laketown would sell off his own mother if the price were right and Thorin could promise him a portion of the mountain's gold in exchange for aid right now. With us taking all the risk, the Master would have no reason to refuse. And if Thorin truly means to rob him, he should have asked for my advice.”  
  
“I wish you wouldn't talk like that,” Dwalin says with a sigh. The warrior has never been entirely comfortable with Nori's alternate profession. While he admires the other dwarf's abilities, he dreads the day that his amrâbulnas steals something that he shouldn't. Leading Nori to the executioner would be the ruin of him and Dwalin's control is already starting to crack after so many weeks in his second amrâbulnas' company. “Why can't you just stick with glassblowing? You know you have the skill.”  
  
“I admit that I enjoy it. But I get bored too easily,” Nori says, testing a crow-bill in his hands. “And you really needn't worry. It's not as though Thrór's guards came close to catching me back then.”  
  
“Your luck won't last forever,” Dwalin retorts. “Can't you even try to find a legal outlet for your boredom? Our new king will need a spymaster and I could put in a good word.”  
  
“You know, that doesn't sound too awful,” Nori muses. “Can I think about it?”  
  
“He'll take the job,” Ori interrupts as he looks up from his darning. “If you don't, Nori, then I'll set Dori on you and we all know how that would end.”  
  
“That is blackmail, little brother.”  
  
“Yes, it is. You've taught me well. So suck it up and say that you'll retire. I'm tired of you running off for years on end; I hate not knowing when you might be in danger and I'm sure that my husband here agrees.”  
  
“Fine then,” Nori sighs. “You win, the both of you. But don't forget, none of that will matter if Smaug just kills us all.”  
  
He has a point but it's not one that Dwalin and Ori truly wish to think about and soon their conversation turns to other things. Indeed, most of the dwarves have been trying not to think about the dragon ever since their journey started.  
  
Thorin told only Balin and Gandalf of his plan to steal the Arkenstone and then raise a dwarven army. The rest of his companions have been bolstering their courage with a combination of blind faith and loyalty. Although there is something to be said for the power of denial, the Lonely Mountain is drawing ever closer and even Balin is starting to feel misgivings about their leader's plan.  
  
This quest seemed so simple back in the Blue Mountains. Hire a burglar and escort him to Azsâlul'abad. Send him inside to steal the Arkenstone and if Smaug woke up to eat him, that would be no great loss. At least the dwarves would know for certain that their enemy survived.  
  
The problem now is Bilbo. Balin likes Bilbo and while the hobbit has proved himself both brave and clever, Thorin cannot truly expect him to face a dragon on his own. The hobbit won't stand a chance if Smaug still lives within the mountain and Balin doesn't want to believe that Thorin is willing to sacrifice his beloved for his throne. But then again, the dwarf can hardly believe that his old friend is planning a burglary right now.  
  
“Do you truly intend to steal the Master's weapons?” Balin asks quietly. “Iron-forged or not, they won't help us fight the dragon. We have as much chance of killing the great wyrm with a crow-bill as with an elvish broadsword and I cannot advise you to antagonize Laketown needlessly.”  
  
“I will not be defenseless,” Thorin growls back. “We must be ready to avenge our burglar if he should fail his mission. I will not have Bilbo die in vain.”  
  
“I would hope you mean to save him,” Balin replies a little sharply. That is not how Thorin should be speaking of the one he plans to court.  
  
“Yes, of course,” the other dwarf agrees, shaking his head sharply as though to chase away dark thoughts. “I will not see Bilbo harmed. But the hobbit is our burglar and I cannot turn aside. I must reclaim the Lonely Mountain for our people – that is my duty, Balin – and so Bilbo must attempt the job that we contracted. However, as long as he tries his best, his failure would not alter the feelings in my heart.”  
  
“Pretty words. But I am not the one who needs to hear them,” Balin tells Thorin and then tilts his head toward Bilbo. The hobbit is sitting by the fire, entertaining Bard's son and younger daughter with stories of his home. But even as his hands paint pictures in the air, Bilbo keeps glancing at the dwarf lord longingly.  
  
“You are right again, old friend. Will you excuse me?” Thorin asks and Balin smiles, waving his friend forward with a bow. The other dwarf moves to stand by Bilbo, waiting until the hobbit has finished his last story before he interrupts.  
  
“May we speak?” he asks the burglar quietly.  
  
“Oh, of course. Whatever you want,” Bilbo exclaims, jumping to his feet. Thorin walks to the far corner of the house and Bilbo follows, the two of them settling on the window seat. Although it isn't entirely private, no one else should be able to hear their conversation if they talk quietly and the hobbit smiles when the dwarf lord grabs his hand.  
  
“I should not have kissed you,” Thorin tells his burglar and Bilbo flinches sharply; he was not expecting that. But the dwarf does not let go and when he continues speaking, his words quickly soothe the hobbit's heart.  
  
“I do wish to court you, Bilbo. If you agree to have me, I will pledge my troth the moment that my kingdom is reclaimed. But until then you must be my burglar instead of my beloved. I cannot plan our strategy if I am distracted and I am afraid that you distract me terribly. This is not a mark against you, Bilbo. Please, you must know that. I care about you greatly and I would not see you harmed.”  
  
“I understand, Thorin. Of course, I understand,” Bilbo answers, stroking the dwarf lord's palm. “I care about you too and I will be honored to accept your promise once our quest is done.”  
  
The hobbit is slightly disappointed but he can't refuse this plea. Thorin bares his heart so rarely that each glimpse is a treasure and Bilbo knows how much Erebor means to his beloved. The burglar may be nervous about facing Smaug within the mountain, but he does not intend to flee.  
  
He has found his courage over the course of their long journey. His courage and a magic ring to boost his bravery. Having a trick up his sleeve is comforting even if turning invisible does strange things to the hobbit's senses. Better to feel dull and empty than be eaten by a dragon and this is Bilbo's moment in the sun. This is the burglar's chance to prove that Thorin made the right decision picking him.  
  
So he kisses the dwarf lord on the cheek and then climbs back to his feet. The hobbit leaves Thorin with a smile before returning to Tilda by the fire, her face lighting up when he begins another tale.  
  
Thorin watches Bilbo for a moment, his affection for the burglar a warm ember in his chest. Then the dwarf takes a look around Bard's house to check on the rest of his companions. His eyes find Dwalin, Nori, and Ori laughing with each other over the human's shoddy weapons, the captain of his guard doing his best to turn castoffs into gold. Meanwhile, Óin and Bofur are having a surprisingly animated conversation with the bargeman's older daughter as Bain and Bard look on. A few feet away, Bifur has pulled out a piece of wood and a small knife from somewhere, the dwarf carving a new toy skillful hands. On Bifur's other side, Dori, Glóin, and Bombur are attempting to fix their hair with varying levels of success while Balin is sitting right where the dwarf lord left him. His expression is pensive as he stares out the window and Thorin feels a wave of fondness for his old friend.  
  
Balin should have been a scholar in Azsâlul'abad, teaching the next generation about their people's history. All of Thorin's companions should be at home with their own families; it's only love and loyalty that has brought them all this far.  
  
Speaking of family, the dwarf lord's sister-sons are not sitting with the others. Thorin looks around the room until he finds the pair tucked back in a corner and then climbs to his feet. He needs to check on Kíli's injury.  
  
If Bilbo fails and the dwarves are forced battle Smaug within the mountain, Thorin's companions must be at their full strength. If Kíli cannot stand at Fíli's shoulder, then the dwarf lord's younger sister-son will just distract his brother and the wyrm would surely take advantage of such an opening. Dragons are cruel creatures and Smaug is the cruelest of them all; he would revel in the chance to break amrâbulnâs. He would shatter Fíli gladly and then revel in his pain.  
  
“How are you, Kíli?” Thorin asks quietly.  
  
“I will survive, uncle. And I'll be all right by morning, I promise. I will not let you down,” his sister-son replies. The archer's words are earnest but the dwarf lord can't believe them when he sees the stress on Kíli's face. For all the prince's skill, he really should not be here. He and his brother are much too young for this. Perhaps Thorin should order both of them to stay behind.  
  
_After all, the first sight of the Arkenstone belongs to me alone,_ a stray thought whispers through his mind. _Otherwise Fíli might get ideas about usurping my position. And I did promise Dís that I'd protect them, did I not? Better to leave them here in Laketown until the day is won; we must travel quickly now and Kíli will slow us down. And yet... who knows what bargains might be made while I am gone?_  
  
The Master of Laketown holds no allegiance to the rightful King Under the Mountain. He would accept any claim in exchange for a share of treasure and Fíli has always had a knack for charming men. The prince's disarming smile has tilted many negotiations in his favor and so perhaps it would be safer if Thorin kept his heir right at his side. Better to keep Fíli pinned beneath his watchful eye where the prince cannot be tempted to take what is not his. Keep him close and weak without his amrâbulnas nearby.  
  
This plan makes a certain sense, Thorin can't deny it. But he knows that the rest of his companions probably wouldn't understand. Thus, the dwarf lord reveals nothing of his thoughts or scheming; he just lays a gentle hand on Kíli's shoulder now.  
  
“I am glad that you are feeling better,” Thorin tells the archer. “Rest now, the both of you. You will need to be ready later on.”  
  
“Of course, uncle,” Kíli tells him with a faint smile. His sister-son's expression is so trusting that the dwarf lord feels a little guilty for his thoughts. The younger prince would never work against him – he doesn't have the brains for double-dealing – and Fíli would not betray his brother; as long as they're together, Thorin should not doubt their loyalty.  
  
“Take care of your husband, Fíli, like you always do,” Thorin says and Fíli nods resolutely. “If you need me, I will be with Balin. We need to discuss our strategy.”  
  
As the dwarf lord turns to leave, he glances out the window next to Kíli's head and what he sees in the distance makes him stop short in surprise.  
  
“Uncle? Are you all right?”  
  
“Yes, Fíli,” Thorin replies. “I just saw something unexpected. It seems the Master of Laketown has chosen to decorate his house with a dwarvish wind-lance, though I did not know that any of those weapons still remained. I have not seen a wind-lance in many years. Not since the city of Dale was burned by dragon fire and Lord Girion made his last stand against the beast.”  
  
“The man fought Smaug?” Kíli asks in surprise. The prince thought that he and Fíli knew every story about the loss of Azsâlul'abad, but neither dwarf has ever heard this tale before. Perhaps their uncle had not wanted to admit that Girion stood against the dragon; he may have failed but he'd shown courage that many dwarves did not.  
  
“Indeed, my sister-son,” Thorin tells him gravely. “Girion took the Black Arrows that our kin had forged for that great weapon and he loosed them fruitlessly. If the aim of men had been true that day, many things would be different.”  
  
His voice grows a little louder with each word, the pain of old memories washing over him. The dwarf lord will never forget the way his people screamed in agony, the sound of their flesh sizzling as their lives snuffed out.  
  
“You speak as though you were there.”  
  
Thorin turns to see Bard looking down at him. He must have spoken louder than he'd realized if the bargeman heard him, but there's no point in denying the truth now.  
  
“Yes, I was there. All of us were there except for Kíli who had not yet been born. My sister-son only lives now by the luck of the Valar; his brother Fíli was in the womb when my sister fled the dragon and both of them were nearly burned to ashes where they stood. So yes, bargeman, I saw the slaughter that Smaug brought upon our people. I remember those dark days and the losses that we suffered when the great wyrm came. Lord Girion was brave, I won't deny that, but his failure doomed us all.”  
  
“It wasn't his fault!” Bain interrupts before Bard can respond. “If you were really there then you would know that Girion hit the dragon. He struck Smaug in the chest and loosed a scale above his heart. If the tower underneath Girion's feet had not collapsed before he took his final shot, then the dragon would have died.”  
  
Thorin opens his mouth to teach the boy some manners, a hard knot of anger rising in his chest. Bain should know better than to eavesdrop on his elders and this boy does not understand the dwarf lord's pain. Bain hasn't seen death or true destruction; he may have known hunger but he does not know despair.  
  
“Peace, Thorin,” Balin says, grabbing the dwarf lord's arm. “Leave the lad to his illusions. The Lakemen have been living in Erebor's shadow for generations; don't begrudge their children hope.”  
  
Thorin wants to snarl. But Balin holds his gaze with a quiet strength that silences his insults and keeps his rage lodged in his throat. This isn't the time or place for the dwarf to lose control; these aren't the enemies that he truly wants to fight.  
  
The Lakemen do not understand the pain of Thorin's people because the dragon is nothing but a legend in their minds, a ghost story that they tell their children when the mountain shakes at night. None of these men were alive when Smaug destroyed Thrór's kingdom and it's not fair to blame the boy for speaking of his ancestor's bravery.  
  
But Thorin still wants to hit him.  
  
So the dwarf lord yanks his arm free, his glare silencing Balin before he can offer more advice. Thorin can feel everyone staring at him – Bard, his children, Fíli, Kíli, and rest of his companions – and the sensation makes him cringe. His grief is closer to the surface than it has been for many years and he does not need an audience to watch him fall apart. The dwarf spins sharply on his heel and stalks to the far corner of Bard's house. He glares out the window blindly, the tense set of his shoulders warning everyone away.  
  
Although, in truth, most of Thorin's audience is too shocked to think of following. Most of the dwarves are gaping at their leader's back – few of them have ever seen him lose control like that.  
  
Only Fíli and Kíli are more interested in the Lakemen's story than with their uncle's state of mind. If Bain spoke truth then Smaug may now be vulnerable; a missing scale is a weakness that the princes can exploit and Kíli is sure that he can find a bow in Laketown's armory.  
  
In contrast, Bard is staring after Thorin with a spark of recognition. The sorrow in his words resonated inside the bargeman's heart, echoing the grief that Bard has felt since the day that his wife died. However, despite a twinge of sympathy, it's the dwarf's name that leaves the man unsettled; Bard has heard that name before.  
  
He can’t remember where exactly, but the context must have something to do with Erebor. Bard would not have remembered Thorin's name if it were not important and few dwarves have been remembered down through Laketown’s history. Very, very few and if this Thorin is a member of the Lonely Mountain's royal family, he and his companions cannot possibly be merchants heading to the Iron Hills. Every tale agrees that the dwarves of Erebor are the proudest of their brethren and their prince would only be in Laketown to reclaim his family's crown.  
  
_Which would be ill news indeed,_ Bard thinks as he looks around his home. Such a small company cannot hope to kill Smaug when the full might of two kingdoms failed to touch him and if these dwarves mean to steal the dragon’s treasure before fleeing, Laketown will pay the price.  
  
No wyrm would allow such a theft to go unpunished and Smaug is unlikely to care that the men are innocent. A dragon in a rage could destroy this city easily.  
  
However, the bargeman has no proof and he can't confront the dwarves on the strength of his suspicions. If this Thorin is trying to reclaim his homeland, Bard will need to plan his words out carefully. If he cannot convince the dwarves to turn aside then he will be forced to take his worries to the Master and he will not do that without utter certainty.  
  
Dealing with the Master is the bargeman's last resort. That man is an utter bastard and he despises Bard enough to ignore him out of spite. But the bowman will swallow his pride in order to save his children; Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda are worth anything.  
  
_Although..._ Bard thinks, glancing at the ceiling. His ancestor's last Black Arrow has been hidden in the rafters there for decades, ever since he and his wife first moved into this house. If Bard took down that weapon, perhaps he could face the dragon. Perhaps he could restore honor to the line of Girion by completing the last task that the lord of Dale had left undone.  
  
_But, no, that is foolishness,_ Bard tells himself. Although he is quite skilled with bow and arrow, he has never used a wind-lance and he won't risk his children's lives on such a chance. Not unless he has exhausted all other avenues.  
  
“Watch our guests, Bain, and listen if they speak about the Lonely Mountain. I would know their purpose here,” the bargeman says, pulling his son aside. “Do not let them leave ‘til I return.”  
  
“Of course, da,” Bain promises. “But where are you going?”  
  
“To find the truth,” Bard replies before running out the door. It’s late enough that the Master’s spies shouldn’t care about his passage and it’s not as though he’s doing anything illegal anyway. However, the lateness of the hour means that Bard doesn’t have much time before his guests get restless and while he doesn’t doubt Bain’s heart, his son will be rather seriously outnumbered if the dwarves prove belligerent.  
  
So the man hurries through the floating streets of Laketown as quickly as he can. The sun has not set completely and the streets have yet to empty, fisherman and shopkeepers dealing with the last business of the day. Bard sees several of his neighbors amongst that number and he gives each a nod in greeting although he doesn’t stop.  
  
Eventually the bowman’s feet bring him to his destination: a small shop with a sign proclaiming _Books and Other Sundries_ hanging by the door. If anyone can confirm his suspicions, it will be old Denten. The shopkeeper often complains about low sales on books and histories – he makes his living from more practical wares – but he refuses to throw out a damn thing anyway.  
  
When Bard enters the shop, he makes his way straight to the far corner where Denten keeps a pile of old tapestries. The bargeman has a faint memory of seeing a family tree some weeks ago, the only record of Erebor’s royal line that he’s aware of, and he wishes that he'd paid more attention at the time. But Bard never thought he'd actually need to know the names of Thrór's descendants; he never thought that anyone would be stupid enough to challenge Smaug for Erebor.  
  
“Damn it, where is it?” Bard mutters, tossing another tapestry aside. He's careful not to damage the fabric – he has better uses for his coin than fancy decorations – and he lets out a cry of triumph when he spies a shock of blue.  
  
That's the color of royalty, that deep dark indigo to match the evening sky, and Bard pulls the tapestry free with trembling hands. The names are there just as he remembered, the line of Durin embroidered in gleaming golden thread.  
  
“Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór,” Bard murmurs, tracing the dwarf's line back to the last lord of Erebor. The man was right; Thorin is the rightful King Under the Mountain and he must be here to reclaim his family's throne. Although, it seems the tapestry is incomplete; there is no mention of the younger dwarves that Thorin called his nephews and Bard sees something lonely in the empty spaces where their names should be.  
  
“Dwarves? What would dwarves be doing in Laketown?”  
  
At this, Bard's head snaps up and he looks around a little wildly. But these questions were not meant for the bargeman. Two women are talking loudly on the street outside and while the one who spoke is facing away from Denten’s shop, Bard recognizes the other. It's Dame Freda, one of his closest neighbors; she must have seen the dwarves sneaking to his house.  
  
Indeed, her voice is certain when she answers the other woman's question. “I know what I saw. They appeared out of nowhere – full beards and fierce eyes like all the legends say.”  
  
The bargeman puts down the tapestry and starts moving toward the door. He keeps his head down, unwilling to draw notice in case Freda saw him with Thorin’s company. But the woman pays him no attention as he slips past; she's preoccupied with the swiftly growing crowd of people gathering around her now.  
  
“I don't believe it. No one here has seen a dwarf in generations,” one fisherman scoffs.  
  
“He's right. They keep to their trade routes in the North. No need to travel near the mountain or let us share in any coin.”  
  
“And why should they? Even if they cared for fish, we have none to spare.”  
  
“It's the prophecy,” old Denten announces firmly. Every head swings around to look at the shopkeeper, even Bard pausing in his steps. Because the old man is in his element; history is his passion and for once, he has a willing audience.  
  
“It is the prophecy of Durin's Folk,” the old man continues. “And the foretelling of Smaug's doom:  


The Lord of Silver Fountains,  
The King of Carven Stone,  
The King Beneath the Mountain shall finally come home,  
The bells shall ring in gladness at the mountain's king's return.  
For the dragon cannot stand against the might of Durin's own.”

  
Denten falls silent even as the other Lakemen break into excited whispers, their eyes shining with the gleam of greed and gold. But the old man's prophecy sparks a memory inside of Bard, a conversation from his youth that he had forgotten until now. Perhaps Denten is right. Perhaps that is the prophecy of Erebor's lost children, but the version that Bard's father told him was a cautionary tale. Durin's Folk are brave but Lord Girion had faced the dragon and his descendants know exactly what the outcome of such a fight would be.  
  
“Yet all shall fall in sadness and the lake will shine and burn,” Bard whispers, the words echoing with his father's voice inside his head. Although his kin may dream of richness, he knows that Laketown will get only death instead.  
  
With this thought, the bargeman turns and runs back to his house. He must speak with Thorin before the dwarf and his companions leave for Erebor.  
  
However, when Bard bursts through his front door, he knows that he's too late. His house is empty of dwarves – the only sign of his guests a few dirty bowls and spoons – and Bain's expression is regretful when he speaks, “I'm sorry, da. I tried to stop them but they wouldn't listen.”  
  
“How long have they been gone? Do you know which way they went?”  
  
“Ten minutes at least,” Bain replies. “And they didn't say where they were going. They wouldn't tell me when I asked.”  
  
“East. The dwarves went east toward the center of the city,” Sigrid interjects. “I watched them through the window until they disappeared.”  
  
“Thank you, darling,” Bard says and then clasps his children's shoulders. “Both of you, wait here with Tilda. I have to try and find the dwarves before they get too far. I fear they're going to do something very stupid if I cannot convince their leader otherwise.”  
  
In fact, Bard is right, although not exactly as he's thinking. Thorin and his companions are about to do something very foolish in the service of their quest.

 


	9. Tager

The dwarf lord ordered his kinsfolk to their feet as soon as it grew dark. They packed up their gear and left the house despite Bain's protests, though Bilbo did pause to thank Bard’s children for their hospitality.  
  
The hobbit and his friends traveled through the streets of Laketown, keeping to the shadows whenever one of the city’s guards walked by. These men roamed the town in groups of two and three, their pikes and halberds gleaming in the moonlight. Despite the quality of their weapons, the guards were not particularly skillful. They talked and joked amongst themselves instead of marching quietly, their voices carrying clearly through the crisp lake air.  
  
This was good for Thorin and his comrades. The dwarves had plenty of warning before they had to hide and when one guard announced that he was returning to the armory, they followed him straight there.  
  
Now Nori and Bilbo are scouting out the building, looking for the best place to break in while the rest of their friends skulk in the shadows underneath some stairs nearby. Well, to be perfectly honest, it’s really Nori scouting. The hobbit is just trailing after his companion and happily agreeing with everything he says.  
  
Bilbo hasn’t exactly done this kind of thing before and he has to wonder why Thorin needed a burglar when he appears to have a perfectly competent sneak thief in his company. Maybe the dwarf lord doesn't know about Nori's other talents or perhaps Gandalf simply convinced Thorin that thirteen was an unlucky number with which to start his quest.  
  
Whatever the reason, Bilbo is glad to be here. Well, maybe not _here_ exactly. The hobbit would rather be negotiating with the Lakemen than stealing from them but he won't question Thorin now. The burglar knows that time is of the essence and he is more than ready for this journey to be over. Not because of Erebor's fabled treasure but because of the future that Thorin promised him. He wants peace instead of danger, romance instead of pain, and the chance for Kíli to heal until he smiles bright again.  
  
“Up there,” Nori says, drawing Bilbo's attention to the back of the building. He points to a high window, far away from any guards. “I used to case houses and no one ever locks the entrances on the upper floors.”  
  
“Seriously,” the hobbit mutters under his breath. “Why am _I_ the burglar?”  
  
Apparently Bilbo isn't as quiet as he thinks. Nori looks down at him and answers with a smirk, “Because I'm not mad enough to steal from dragons. I prefer light thievery or picking pockets and I don't advertise. Besides, Gandalf was probably right about Smaug not recognizing hobbits; if he smelled a dwarf like me, he'd go on a rampage instantly.”  
  
“If that's meant to be comforting, I think you missed the mark,” Bilbo retorts.  
  
He means the words but Nori just laughs and slaps him on the shoulder. “You'll be fine. What's one little dragon after Azog, those spiders, and a mountain full of goblins? If you didn't get eaten in the Mirkwood, I doubt you'll get eaten here.”  
  
That's still not very comforting but Bilbo will cross that bridge – or dragon – when he gets there. For now the hobbit has to rob this armory.  
  
He and Nori return to Thorin and tell him about the window. The dwarf lord nods, waving his companions closer to listen to their burglar.  
  
“Kíli and I will keep watch,” Fíli volunteers. His brother is fading again, his wound worse for the walking, and he doesn't need to be climbing up any buildings now.  
  
Thorin's eyes narrow a bit but he doesn't argue. Their uncle just nods shortly and leads everyone else to the armory. At the dwarf lord's command, his companions create a living staircase, standing on each other's shoulders until they reach the windowsill. Nori climbs up first, then Bilbo, Bofur, and Bifur, while Dwalin, Glóin, and Ori bring up the rear.  
  
“We'll return in a few minutes,” Thorin tells Fíli before following his companions. “We head straight for the mountain afterwards.”  
  
Once he disappears into the armory, the remaining dwarves slip back into the shadows. Kíli leans heavily against a nearby crate while his brother finds a better vantage point to watch for guards. The minutes drag as Fíli waits for the others to complete their thievery, but eventually Thorin reappears at the window and signals to his sister-sons.  
  
Fíli and Kíli move over to the window, standing ready while their uncle maneuvers a bunch of weapons through the opening. But the dwarf lord has only just begun to lower this bundle when Dori hisses, “Hide! Quickly! There's a guard patrol inbound.”  
  
Thorin ducks back inside the window, dropping his stolen blades into the princes' arms as the dwarves outside scatter instantly. But the bundle is heavy and when Fíli and Kíli move to follow their companions, the archer’s leg gives out.  
  
He tumbles to the ground, pulling his brother off-balance as he falls. The bundle of stolen weapons slips from the princes' hands and Fíli flinches when it hits the street with a deafening clatter, steel clanging on steel like a violent thunderclap. The noise seems to last forever as it splits the night in two and the dwarves barely dare to breathe until the last echo dissipates.  
  
For a moment, there is silence and Fíli prays that their mistake might not have ruined everything. But then someone starts shouting, a clamor rising up all around Thorin's company.  
  
The prince pulls his brother to his feet, looking for a hiding place while Dori, Óin, and Balin turn to run. A sensible reaction to be sure; if the dwarves outside manage to flee, perhaps the Lakemen will not think to check within the armory. But Fíli cannot join them; he and Kíli cannot leave their amrâbulnas in danger, no matter how practical such a choice may be.  
  
In truth, it makes no difference. Laketown's guards surround the other dwarves before they make it twenty feet and Fíli can hear his uncle shouting from inside the armory. With twenty halberds pointed at their throats, Thorin and his companions have no choice but to surrender. Although these men aren't particularly skilled, the dwarves do not wish to kill them and escaping would require bloodshed now. Fíli can only growl and grumble, glaring at the guard who grabs his brother's arm.  
  
The Lakemen shove the dwarves together and then escort their prisoners through the city toward their leader's house. The guard captain makes a production of the journey, gathering a crowd of curious men and women on the way.  
  
By the time the group reaches the main square, half of Laketown seems to be following. Bilbo can see the men muttering amongst themselves, the expressions on their faces bright with curiosity. There is some suspicion as well, hints of worry and fear that make the hobbit wince. He doesn't know how their company is going to escape the Master's justice – honestly, they don't deserve to – but he knows how convincing Thorin Oakenshield can be.  
  
If the Master is willing to listen, then the dwarves still have a chance. Hopefully Thorin will be able to show Laketown the value of his quest and repair the rift their actions caused. Either the Master will support them or he'll throw them in a dungeon and Bilbo is getting pretty good at rescuing his company.  
  
So the hobbit tries not to panic when their procession comes to a halt in front of the Master's house. There's no announcement as such, but it's rather obvious. No fisherman could have afforded that much gilding and even if Laketown's ruler had chosen to decorate in a less gaudy style, the wind-lance on his roof would still be a dead giveaway. As would the rotund man in expensive clothing who is standing on the porch.  
  
“What is the meaning of this?” the Master roars. He glares at the crowd with indiscriminate anger, his irritation falling upon his people as much as Thorin's company. “You'd best have a good reason for disturbing my evening meal.”  
  
“We caught these dwarves stealing weapons,” the captain of his guard replies. “Red-handed in the armory.”  
  
“Is that so?” the Master asks. He turns his gaze on Thorin, curiosity lessening the anger in his eyes. But when the man sees the dwarves' worn and ragged clothing, he dismisses their importance instantly. These intruders cannot help him consolidate his power – they're simply troublemakers – and a man of his stature doesn't deal with peasants. That's what he has Alfrid for.  
  
Indeed, the Master is already bored with this conversation. He waves his hand, signaling his adviser to take over. The skinnier man has always been good at punishing Laketown's enemies and the sooner these dwarves are dealt with, the sooner the Master can get back to his meal.  
  
“You have shown yourselves to be enemies of Laketown and thus enemies of the Master. A bunch of vile mercenaries, I am sure,” Alfrid says with a sneer. “What do you have to say in your defense? Speak truth, you filthy buggers. We don't want no excuses for your treachery.”  
  
The Master's adviser clearly expects the dwarves to fall begging at his feet. However, Mahal's children have never been blessed with great humility and they will not plead for forgiveness even when they're in the wrong. In truth, there is little to say and while he wishes things were different, Bilbo cannot judge his friends too harshly when he is their burglar. So the hobbit bites his tongue even as his companions keep their silence, the dwarves staring back at the Master's adviser until he shifts uncomfortably.  
  
Only then does Dwalin step forward to introduce his leader, holding his head up high as he proclaims, “You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal. This is the rightful king of Erebor!”  
  
The warrior gestures to Thorin as the gathered crowd murmurs in shock and recognition, those standing in front passing on the news to those behind. None of these Lakemen were alive when Smaug took the mountain, but they all know the stories of Thrór's kingdom – of the wealth and wonder that existed in those halls.  
  
“I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, and I have come to reclaim my people's homeland,” the dwarf lord announces proudly. He does not bow and he does not apologize for his companions' actions; sniveling to the Master would only make them all look weak. Instead, Thorin appeals to the Lakemen's baser instincts, to the hunger on their faces and the desperation in their eyes. The dwarf lord does not want to trade on his people's future and if he cannot barter with honor then he will prey on hope and greed.  
  
“I intend to restore Erebor back to wealth and glory and in so doing, I will restore your home as well. I remember this city when it was more than a forgotten group of hovels on a lake. This town was once the center of all trade here in the North; fleets of ships lay anchored at the docks and bright flags waved in the wind. Those days are gone now but they can yet be recovered. I will light the dwarvish forges, sending goods and coin flowing from the Lonely Mountain once again. All of you will share in my people's wealth and riches; your children and your spouses will grow strong and happy once the dwarves of Erebor come home.”  
  
Thorin's voice is strong and the effect of his words on the Lakemen is clearly visible. This city isn't wealthy – that much is obvious – and hungry people are far more ready to grasp at shreds of hope. No one wants to see their children starving and the dwarf lord is offering them a future that is better than today.  
  
“Your words are pretty, but you will bring us only death,” Bard interrupts sharply, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. “You will bring dragon fire and ruin down upon this city if you wake Smaug from his slumber; the wyrm's rage will burn us all.”  
  
Thorin's turns to face the bowman as his audience starts to mutter. The dwarf's eyes are hard as flint but he keeps his expression open; Bard has reminded the Lakemen of their fear and yelling will not sway them. Tonight the future king of Erebor must coax these men into compliance; he must convince the Master that his prize is worth the risk.  
  
“If you listen to this man, nothing will ever change,” the dwarf lord says, sweeping his gaze across the crowd. “You have two choices now. You can remain huddled in the dragon's shadow for the remainder of your days or you can dare to dream of better things. I admit our quest is dangerous; that I don't deny. But if we succeed, all of us will share in the great wealth of Erebor. You will have enough gold to rebuild the ruins of Esgaroth twice over, better and brighter than before.”  
  
“Have you forgotten what happened to Dale?” Bard asks his kinsmen almost desperately. “Have you forgotten everyone who died in flames due to Thrór's unending greed?”  
  
Thorin can’t hold back a growl at the bargeman’s insult. He and Bard glare at each other fiercely as the surrounding Lakemen argue back and forth. Neither side appears to be winning, the clamor growing louder and louder until the Master of Laketown speaks again.  
  
“You are quick to lay blame,” the man says, pointing his finger at Bard. “But we all know that it was _your_ ancestor Girion, Lord of Dale, who failed to slay the dragon.”  
  
The accusation falls into a sudden silence and the bargeman flinches, unable to meet the glow of triumph sparked in Thorin’s eyes. But the Master hasn’t finished yet.  
  
“And _you,_ ” he continues, turning his gaze on the dwarf lord. “How do I know that you are truly the prince of Erebor? What proof have you of kingship? You and your companions have shown yourselves as thieves, filthy beggars who would say anything to avoid your proper punishment. Why should I trust the word of any dwarf right now?”  
  
“What about a hobbit?” Bilbo asks. He didn't mean to speak up but he couldn't let this man question Thorin’s birthright, not when that loss hurts his beloved even now. Although the hobbit falters slightly when everyone turns to look at him, he does not take back the words. Bilbo can do this; for Thorin the burglar can do anything.  
  
“I have no stake in Erebor,” the hobbit says and this is almost true. He does not care about the mountain or its treasure, only what reclaiming Erebor means to his beloved and his kin. “My people live in fertile lands to the west and I say that this is Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, and the rightful King Beneath the Mountain. He is here to take back his people's homeland so that Durin's Folk may finally cease their wandering. I understand your fears but surely you cannot deny them such a thing?”  
  
“You will truly stand for this dwarf?” the Master asks as the Lakemen murmur quietly. “You swear on your honor that he will keep his promises.”  
  
“I give you my word as the Baggins of Bag End.”  
  
Bilbo's oath rings out clearly and the watching crowd cannot doubt the hobbit’s words. Even Bard cannot call him a liar; the bargeman can only turn to Thorin and plead for sanity.  
  
“You have no right to enter that mountain.”  
  
“I have the _only_ right,” the dwarf lord replies and this is truth as well. The Lakeman’s fears do not change what was stolen or who the dragon stole it from. Thorin does not owe anyone else part of his kingdom’s treasure – Smaug alone should pay for his victims’ suffering – and he offers now only because he needs the Lakemen’s help. The dwarf lord has nothing to barter but his rightful heritage and he curses his circumstances fiercely even as he meets the Master’s eyes.  
  
“What say you? Will you aid my cause and share in the great wealth of my people? Or will you huddle on this lake like cowards and die without a dream?”  
  
The man doesn’t answer at first, his eyes flickering across the crowd to gauge his people’s mood. However, while Bard is well respected by his friends and neighbors, the combination of Bilbo’s oath and the dwarf lord’s silver tongue has swayed the men of Laketown toward Thorin’s company. What do they care if these dwarves tried to steal weapons from the Master? There are few souls in this city who have not wished to do the same. Indeed, when the winter wind bites sharply, many talk of revolution and these men would forgive a murderer if he only changed their children's fate.  
  
So the Master nods sharply, turning back to Thorin and spreading his arms wide. He may not like this dwarf lord’s arrogance or his refusal to bow down properly but the man has always been good at reading the prevailing wind and he’d sup with Smaug himself for a chance at the gold and silver in the vaults of Erebor.  
  
“I say welcome,” he announces. “Welcome to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”  
  
Most of the Lakemen give a resounding cheer even as Bard shakes his head disgustedly. The bargeman pushes his way through the crowd and heads back to his family, but sound carries on the water and he can't escape the Master's speech.  
  
“Come, come, we are allies now and you must come inside,” the rotund man says tells Thorin's company. He waves the dwarves forward while signaling his guards to hold back the filthy masses – he wouldn't want his people to get _ideas_ now. “Tonight we shall feast together. Fill your bellies on food and wine and tell me all about the precious heirlooms that your people left in Erebor. Such wonderful things, heirlooms, so important to remembering our history. That is why I keep all of Laketown's treasures locked away where they are safe from thieves and prying eyes.”  
  
Every word drips with pompous smarm and several of the dwarves can't quite hide their distaste as the Master leads them into his mansion. Thankfully the man doesn't seem to notice; he just ushers his guests into the dining room and shouts for his servants to bring wine. The Master heaps abuse upon those women when they don't move fast enough, proving his true nature with every word he speaks.  
  
Thorin's companions barely have the self-control to keep themselves from attacking and looking around the room does not abate their rage. This mansion is grand, far grander than the rest of Laketown, and the Master's gaudy decorations make a mockery of his people's hardship. No true leader would gild his walls while those he leads go hungry; even in his madness, Thrór hadn't gone that far.  
  
To tell the truth, the glint in the Master's eyes reminds Bilbo of his cousin Otho. The other hobbit has looked at Bag End with a similar expression every time he's come to visit, nothing but entitlement and a hungry avarice. That sort of greed is never satisfied, that sort of desire swallows kingdoms, and Bilbo worries that Thorin's bargain may yet prove disastrous.  
  
However, the burglar is distracted from his fears when the Master's servants start to bring out supper. The man's kitchen has done well despite the lack of notice; while the rest of Laketown may be starving, Bilbo sees no sign of famine here. Indeed, there is food enough for everyone and the hobbit digs in with the others; it feels like forever since he's eaten properly. Not since Beorn have the dwarves seen such a feast.  
  
Only when Bilbo is comfortably full does he lean back with a sigh, picking up a goblet of wine on which to sip as the dinner carries on. The burglar isn't the only one drinking and the mood quickly grows more raucous as the dwarves choose to forget about their worries for a time. Indeed, his companions' boisterous air reminds Bilbo of an unexpected party many weeks ago.  
  
When thirteen dwarves barged into Bag End quite uninvited, the hobbit could never have imagined that he would end up here. He never would have dreamed of fighting orcs and goblins, of seeing trolls and elvish kingdoms, or of learning a tavern song from Bofur while Elrond's kin looked on. The hobbit never would have believed that he'd find love and friendship on the road or that he could ever be some kind of burglar.  
  
Bilbo glances across the table at Thorin, his eyes tracing every line of that dear face. It is good to see him happy; the dwarf lord's mood has been much improved by the Master's promise of assistance and a great deal of Laketown's wine, and the hobbit wants him to smile like this all the time. The only thing that could make this evening better would be the chance to curl up by his beloved, to have Thorin wrap an arm around his waist and hold him close again.  
  
But Bilbo doesn't move. He won't push for more when the dwarf lord needs to focus. The hobbit has Thorin's promise to keep him warm until their quest is done. Just a few more days and they'll be able to woo each other properly.  
  
 _Assuming that I survive the dragon,_ Bilbo thinks, the thought dampening his mood like a bucket of ice water. He'll do his best but he is not a burglar, not really, even if he's proved a thief. Only the hobbit's magic ring makes him think that he has any chance of success; his ring and the knowledge that he cannot back out now. Bilbo would never forgive himself for giving in to cowardice, not when entering the mountain is the only way for Durin's Folk to regain their stolen home. Kíli and Fíli and the rest of their companions deserve to have a home, a safe place to love and live and grow old in happiness.  
  
Even if Bilbo were willing to abandon his friends, he could not abandon Thorin. In order to have Thorin, the hobbit must face Smaug. He must steal whatever he needs to steal for the dwarf lord's plan to work. Because Thorin could not live with failure – he could not forgive failure in someone that he loves.  
  
So while the hobbit would dearly like to sit down by the dwarf lord, to feel his warmth and hear him promise that things will be all right, he doesn't dare to ask. Instead, he drinks and laughs and worries about Kíli when the archer slumps down at his side.  
  
Only Fíli's quick catch stops his brother from face-planting in the pudding and the older prince gives Bilbo a weak smile when the hobbit asks, “Is he all right?”  
  
“Fine. We're fine,” the blond dwarf mutters. “He's just never been able to hold his alcohol. No need to worry. Kíli just needs a little rest.”  
  
This is obviously a lie since Bilbo has been watching and the archer never touched a drop. Indeed, Kíli barely ate his supper, picking at his food with little appetite, and his pallor now is troubling. There is something very wrong with the younger prince, the burglar is certain of it, and he wishes more than anything that he had a way to help.  
  
But Bilbo is no healer. If Óin cannot cure Kíli's ailment, then the hobbit has no shot and there is no point in forcing Fíli to admit the truth right now. Let the dwarf pretend for one more evening. Bilbo doesn't want to add to his friend's troubles, not when the signs of strain are clear around his eyes and the thought of Kíli dying makes the hobbit want to cry. Instead, he simply helps Fíli lead his brother from the table, the two of them together keeping the younger dwarf upright.  
  
“We should find Kíli a proper bed,” Bilbo says to Fíli. The hobbit intends to ask the Master or one of his servants for directions to a guest room but the latter have all disappeared and the former is quite drunk. Both he and Thorin are deep in their cups – too deep to interrupt – and Fíli stops Bilbo before he can go looking for the guest rooms on his own.  
  
“Don't trouble yourself. I don't want to leave the others,” the blond prince tells him. “We can take that couch instead.”  
  
In truth, the Master's couch practically is a full-size bed by dwarvish standards, large enough to sleep three or four dwarves comfortably. With Bilbo's assistance, Fíli lays the archer on the cushions and then covers him with his cloak to keep him warm.  
  
“I will stay with Kíli,” he tells the burglar. “I could use the rest myself. But you might as well enjoy this party while it lasts.”  
  
Fíli climbs up next to his brother on the couch and Bilbo starts to do as the prince suggested, turning around to rejoin the rest of Thorin's company. But the hobbit only takes a few steps before he stops right where he stands. The sight of his companions making merry is suddenly depressing; this feels too much like a last meal – one night of celebration before the burglar marches off to slaughter – and he hardly feels like toasting his probable demise.  
  
If the hobbit must face a dragon, then he will do it sensibly. Which means a clear head and a full night's sleep even if Thorin and the others look prepared to carry on. His friends will likely regret that decision in the morning when they set out again.  
  
So Bilbo turns back to the princes. Fíli is already asleep, the older dwarf curled around his brother. He's holding on to Kíli so tightly that the hobbit can barely tell where each prince ends, but there is space enough for Bilbo to lie down at Fíli's back. Indeed, the hobbit fits into this gap perfectly despite the difference in their sizes and he has no sooner wrapped his own cloak around his shoulders then he drifts off into dreams.

 


	10. Sasekh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing last week. Life happened. But here's a longer chapter to kick us back into gear.

The dwarves of Erebor are woken up by shouting the next morning, their leader's words bouncing around their wine-soaked skulls. Thorin is furious that he and his companions slept later than intended – hardly a surprising outcome when most of them saw the dawn – and the dwarf lord berates his kinfolk as they stagger upright one by one.  
  
Only Bilbo and Fíli are remotely rested and the prince mutters a curse on waking anyway. One night's sleep did little for the dwarf's bone deep exhaustion and whoever said that life always seems brighter in the morning was a damn lying fool.  
  
Because Kíli is usually a morning person, up at dawn and disgustingly cheerful compared to all his kin. But today he has somehow slept through their uncle's shouting and when Fíli shakes Kíli's shoulder, the younger dwarf takes far too long to wake. Even then the archer is barely staying conscious. His skin is burning hot and he groans weakly when Fíli lifts him to his feet. Kíli will never be able to reach the Lonely Mountain, not under his own power, but Fíli will carry his amrâbulnas to the gates of Azsâlul'abad if that's what it takes.  
  
The blond dwarf supports his brother with a careful hand as Thorin's company gets dressed in borrowed armor and throws borrowed weapons on their backs. Every move is rushed since Fíli's uncle does not hide his impatience, chivying his kinsfolk toward the exit as soon as they are dressed. Thorin does not even stop to take a headcount before following the Master and his lackey; if the dwarf lord's companions cannot keep up, then they will be left behind.  
  
The Master leads Thorin to the main channel where his guards are loading a boat up with supplies. The man is generous now that he has the promise of dwarvish gold as payment and his manner is reminiscent of many noble sycophants.  
  
Fíli would normally have been repulsed by the Master's toadying; he's never had any patience for royal hangers-on. However, the prince's thoughts are full of worry for his brother and his focus is on keeping the younger dwarf upright. He ignores the Master's speech completely and he doesn't even realize that Bofur is missing until Bilbo mentions the other dwarf's absence from their company. Bofur must still be sleeping back in the Master's mansion but Thorin will not wait for the miner to catch up.  
  
“We must leave without him,” the dwarf lord declares flatly, glaring Bifur to silence when the other dwarf objects. “Do not forget that Durin's Day is upon us. Our quest is nearly over and it will not wait on anything.”  
  
There are a few disgruntled looks, but no one dares to argue for fear of facing the same fate. When their leader orders them on board, the dwarves just heft their weapons and climb into the Master's barge a couple at a time. Fíli waits until the others are all settled before propping Kíli up against a pylon and stepping into the vessel; he finds his balance on the planks and then turns back to help his brother, but Thorin stops Kíli from boarding with a hand across his chest.  
  
“Not you. We must travel with speed and you would slow us down,” Thorin tells his sister-son, the entire company turning to stare at him in shock. To separate amrâbulnâs without their consent is unthinkable and no dwarrow worth his Maker would leave his spouse ill and shaking within a foreign land.  
  
Indeed, Kíli's voice is disbelieving as he asks, “What are you talking about, uncle? I'm coming with you.”  
  
“No. You are not. Rest here and join us when you're healed,” Thorin replies and while his tone is kind, Fíli and Kíli feel a stab of betrayal when they realize that their uncle truly means to leave his younger sister-son behind. The dwarf lord is serious about leaving Kíli here in Laketown and that was not the plan. That was not the plan at all.  
  
“Please, uncle,” Kíli begs, his distress plain on his face. “Fíli and I were raised on your stories of the mountain. We have dreamed of this day for decades and I have to be there when our company comes home. I cannot be absent when we walk into the chambers of our forefathers; if I am, I will regret it for the remainder of my days. I must be there with my brother – with my _amrâbulnas_. You cannot make me leave him, not for this.”  
  
“He is right, Thorin. What Mahal bound should not be separated,” Nori says, adding his support behind the archer's plea. Thorin's decision may be practical, but it is also wrong.  
  
The dwarf cannot sit by and let this happen, not only because his princes need a chance at glory for themselves. He has spent too long separated from his amrâbulnas to watch Thorin inflict that loss on someone else.  
  
“We still have time, you know. A few rest breaks wouldn't kill us.”  
  
“Truly, Thorin. This does not seem wise.”  
  
“We will not slow you, uncle,” Fíli promises, his voice rising above the other's protests. “Let the others run ahead to find the door and we will follow at his pace.”  
  
“You must admit it would be safer to keep your sister-sons nearby.”  
  
“Kíli will not survive alone,” Óin murmurs to the dwarf lord, his words too quiet for the other dwarves to hear. “Leave him here in Laketown and you will come back to a corpse. Kíli's best hope lies within the Lonely Mountain and if he does not recover, surely he deserves to see the home he's dying for.”  
  
“I said no and you shall heed me!” Thorin snaps. The healer's words have only made him angrier – Kíli is not dying; he _cannot_ be dying – and denial makes the dwarf lord stubborn where others might have compromised.  
  
“I have not forgotten the karrushamrâb that you and Fíli carry,” Thorin tells his sister-son. “But a king's first duty is his people and you would only distract your brother now. His attention must be on our quest, not his husband's injury. So stay here and rest, Kíli. That is an order. Your brother will collect you once our burglar's deed is done.”  
  
With this, the dwarf lord turns to board the Master's barge. Thorin clearly thinks that the question of Kíli's presence has been settled and he either doesn't notice or doesn't care how close his company is to outright mutiny.  
  
Not all of them. Dwarves do not take their oaths of fealty lightly. But Thorin's more distant relatives value family over honor; Bombur and the brothers Ri look ready to attack the dwarf lord and if he honestly thinks that Fíli is going to leave his amrâbulnas in Laketown, then he has gone insane. Indeed, Thorin's company is close to splintering right down the middle, every single member already picking sides. But before Fíli can tell his uncle where to shove his bullshit orders, Kíli stops him short.  
  
“You have to go, Fí,” the archer says quietly. “At least one of us must be there when that door is opened and I would not see our companions come to harm for lack of your twin blades.”  
  
The blond dwarf wants to protest; in fact, he protests quite emphatically across the bond they share. But Kíli's gaze is steady and his heart beats with certainty underneath the distress he cannot hide. For once the archer has seen the truth more clearly and when Fíli actually stops to think about it, he knows his brother's right.  
  
Thorin will not give a boon to dwarrows who sit out the final battle and the princes did not come this far to falter now. If Kíli is too injured to fight then his brother must battle all the harder; this is the eleventh hour and their future rests in Fíli's hands. Their future and the safety of their amrâbulnas.  
  
The princes' uncle has become colder and harsher since leaving Thranduil's palace and Fíli does not trust him to protect their burglar anymore. Not when he has an awful feeling that Thorin's actions now are only the beginning of a corrupted vein. For if the dwarf lord is willing to treat his sister-sons so poorly – to abandon Kíli here in Laketown – then who knows the depths to which he'll sink before their quest is done?  
  
So Fíli let out deep sigh, the sound as much displeasure as an acquiescence, before climbing back onto the dock and hugging Kíli tight.  
  
“You had best survive this, little brother,” the dwarf murmurs. “I am not me without you.”  
  
“Don't worry, laddie. I'll take good care of him,” Óin tells Fíli as he steps out of the barge and moves to the archer's side. “I'll do everything I can.”  
  
“What? No, you cannot leave!” Thorin protests. “I need you in the mountain in case we wake the dragon. That would be a fight hard won and none of us have healing skill.”  
  
“Then you had better not get injured. If my absence makes you cautious that can only be a good thing; I wouldn't want you to do anything stupid, or rather, stupider,” the healer retorts, not bothering to hide his disgust. “My place is with my patient and if you will not take him with you, then both of us shall stay.”  
  
“I should have you drawn and quartered,” the dwarf lord snarls but Óin just laughs in answer and in the face of his indifference, Thorin's threats are meaningless. “Fine then. Do what you want. You clearly plan to anyway. And should someone fall without your skills, let that be on your head.”  
  
“It always is,” the healer mutters softly as Thorin stalks to the bow of the boat. Then Óin turns back to his patient and Fíli does not have the words to express his gratitude for what the older dwarf has done. The prince just reaches out to clasp Óin's arm.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispers and he thinks the healer understands.  
  
Fíli gives Kíli one last hug before allowing his companions to pull him back onto the Lakemen's barge. Then he walks to the stern, only sitting down when he's as far away from Thorin as he can get. The blond dwarf holds his brother's gaze as the Lakemen push off from the dock and set the company on its way. Fíli and Kíli have never been separated like this, _never_ , and the prince watches his amrâbulnas until Óin and the archer disappear from view.  
  
Once his brother is out of sight, Fíli only has their bond for comfort and he nearly throws himself overboard when the pain-streaked brightness that is Kíli suddenly dims within his chest. His amrâbulnas is unconscious and the only things that keep the dwarf from jumping – other than the weight of borrowed armor on his shoulders and the knowledge that he'd sink – are the promise that he made to Kíli and the way that Bilbo suddenly gasps in distress at Fíli's side.  
  
“Are you all right?” he asks the hobbit, looking at him worriedly. The last thing the prince needs is for both of his amrâbulnâs to take sick at the same time.  
  
“I'm fine. For a moment, I just thought that I felt...” Bilbo shakes his head, looking back toward Laketown with a sigh. “It doesn't seem right to leave Kíli when he's wounded and I can't shake the feeling that his injury is much worse than it appeared – much worse than he pretended so as not to slow us down. I pray that we will see him hale and healthy when our quest is done.”  
  
Although the hobbit's bond with his amrâbulnâs is still tentative at best, he must sense the same loss as Fíli, the emptiness that speaks of dire things. Kíli feels almost as faint as Bilbo does, the ashânumahâl dim and cold where the archer's emotions usually burn so brightly in his brother's heart. The younger prince isn't dead but he's far from healthy and their burglar is right to worry now.  
  
So Fíli's smile is shaky as he pats Bilbo on the shoulder and promises, “Everything will be okay. Kíli will recover and we'll see him later on.”  
  
Although the prince's words comfort the hobbit as they're meant to, they taste like falsehood on his tongue and Fíli can't help wondering whether Bilbo would be able to feel his brother die. Would their burglar mourn Kíli with the grief that he deserves? Or would he even care that his amrâbulnas has perished when he's so in love with Thorin anyway?  
  
“There it is!”  
  
Nori's shout distracts Fíli from his morbid thoughts and the prince glances up to see his family's home standing tall upon the plain. Azsâlul’abad is beautiful despite the scorched earth that surrounds her, Smaug's fire leaving ashes from the ruins of Dale to the hills above the Long Lake. Fíli can see signs of life even in that desolation, scraps of grass and brush reclaiming the land the dragon stole. Nothing dies forever and the dwarves will rebuild this land even as they rebuild the kingdom beneath the ground as well.  
  
Indeed, Fíli steps onto the shore with a new sense of purpose. He must be strong for his amrâbulnas; he must be brave enough to earn the future they've spent a lifetime dreaming of. To reclaim Thrór's kingdom and in so doing make it better, to give their people a home where love is not illegal and all khazâd may thrive.  
  
It isn't only Kíli who is counting on him; it's also Nori and Ori and Dwalin. It's every dwarrow and dwarrowdam whose ashânumahâl do not fall within the narrow boundaries of the law. Fíli has to succeed as much for them as for his brother now.  
  
If he fails his mission, then he will have abandoned his amrâbulnas for nothing and he can't bear the thought of that. Of course, the prince won't have to bear this thought for very long if Kíli dies in Laketown, but he has to believe that Óin will save his brother. Fíli has to believe that their quest can still have a happy ending; otherwise there is no point at all. If he's going to keep fighting – if he's going to keep hiking toward the Lonely Mountain – then he has to trust that Kíli will see those halls one day.  
  
The dwarves pause for breath above the southern reaches, looking down at the gates of Azsâlul'abad and the ravages of Dale. Although Gandalf was supposed to meet them here – “the Overlook,” he'd promised – the wizard is nowhere to be seen.  
  
Yet Fíli refuses to let the wizard's absence dampen his spirits any further. He ignores the voice in the back of his mind, the one that asks how exactly they're supposed to kill the dragon now. Thorin's company doesn't need Gandalf when they have courage, skill, and the Master's steel to aid them. Fíli will trust in his training and the Valar, and he tries not to wonder how many other dwarrows died with that same thought.  
  
Of course, before Thorin's company can face Smaug, the dwarves must find the secret door into the mountain. If they do not enter Azsâlul'abad before Durin's Day has ended, then they will be forced to wait another year and Fíli does not have that kind of the time.  
  
If he and Kíli cannot court Bilbo soon, they are sure to lose either their hobbit or their minds. Thorin may be ignoring their amrâbulnas now, but as soon as he comes to his senses, the dwarf lord will have his burglar wedded and bedded as fast as possible. Fíli does not doubt this and there is no guarantee that changing the law against infidelity would allow the princes to just claim their uncle's spouse. At the very least, Thorin and his sister-sons might have to share their hobbit and even if Bilbo would be willing, the thought makes Fíli ill.  
  
So the prince spares no attention for the beauty of his people's homeland, though the statues by the gates are true masterworks of skill. Fíli just throws himself into the search when Thorin's company finally reaches Azsâlul'abad, looking for the grey stone that was mentioned on their map. The dwarves spend hours scouring the mountain and when Nori spies a hidden path to the upper reaches, they find their goal at last. But the cursed door won't open and Fíli grows increasingly frantic as the light begins to fade.  
  
The blond dwarf smashes his blades against the stone in sheer desperation, hoping that force will work where all else failed. But the last ray of sunshine disappears without revealing any keyhole – the secret entrance Elrond promised is just smooth unbroken rock.  
  
Thorin and his companions must have missed their chance somehow. Perhaps they lost track of time in the endless dark of Mirkwood and reached their goal too late.  
  
Fíli's uncle has come to the same realization and the sorrow on his face is heartbreaking as he asks Balin what went wrong. However, it's the thought of Kíli that makes the prince sink to his knees in devastation, leaning his head against the rock to hide the tears upon his cheeks. The archer trusted his brother to see this through; he had trusted his amrâbulnas to do what was required and now Fíli has failed him utterly.  
  
The dwarf falls so deep into self-recrimination that he doesn't notice when the moon rises over the horizon and shines down upon the stone. He doesn't notice the pale light flowing underneath his fingers, its magic revealing a small crevice that had not been there before.  
  
“That's the keyhole. Look! The moon, the last moon of autumn. That's what Elrond meant! Come back! Come back!”  
  
Fíli lifts his head at Bilbo's shout, his heart leaping when he notices the shimmering light beneath his hands.  
  
“The key! Where's the key?!” he asks the hobbit, looking around the clearing frantically. The other dwarves have already started down the mountain and Fíli doesn't waste his breath on shouting. He just scrabbles through the dirt, searching for the key while Bilbo yells for Thorin to come back.  
  
The dim light of dusk makes it difficult to see and Fíli is getting worried by the time his hands touch metal. His fingers close around the key and he breathes a sigh of relief as he surges to his feet.  
  
“I've got it!” the dwarf shouts, rushing over to Bilbo before the moonlight can disappear. His hand is shaking as he inserts the key into the door and he's half expecting something not to fit. Considering the way their luck has been so far, Fíli wouldn't even be surprised. But the key slides into the keyhole easily and he's about to turn it when a hand falls on his back.  
  
“Good work, Fíli. But let me.” Thorin frames this as a request but the prince knows that it's an order and he steps back reluctantly.  
  
 _Just in time for the glory,_ Fíli thinks a little bitterly. He can't help wondering how this story will be told when their quest is finished, whether Thorin will be painted as the hero of the tale. Yet even if his uncle has been acting strangely, the company never would have made it this far without the dwarf lord's driving hand; such questions are unworthy of the person that Fíli tries to be.  
  
So the prince joins the rest of his companions, standing on the sidelines as his uncle turns the key. The lock clicks and the hidden door slides open under Thorin's hands, granting the dwarf lord entrance to his homeland for the first time since his people fled.  
  
“I know these walls, these halls, this rock,” Thorin murmurs as he walks into the tunnel, his hands pressed against the stone. “Do you remember, Balin? The chambers filled with golden light?”  
  
“I remember,” the old dwarf answers softly. His eyes are wet as he follows after Thorin, the other members of their company a step or two behind.  
  
The air inside the mountain is dusty, every breath reeking of death and dark decay. Yet there is a sense of life as well, a breathless anticipation that Thorin feels within his bones. Azsâlul'abad has always been able to recognize her children and she has been waiting for this moment for so long.  
  
“Herein lies the seventh kingdom of the Sigin-tarâg,” Glóin murmurs, reading the inscription that stands above the door. “May the Heart of the Mountain unite all dwarves in its defense.”  
  
The words remind Thorin of his purpose, bringing his mind back to the present from a sea of memories. Whatever life his people made in Ered Luin, the Sigin-tarâg belong here and Thorin will never be able to rest until all his kin are home. He will never be able to rest until he is King Under the Mountain with his rightful place reclaimed.  
  
“Bilbo, it is time,” the dwarf lord tells his burglar. “Enter the mountain and bring the Arkenstone to me. If Smaug still lives, you must not wake him. I only need the gem.”  
  
“You want me to find a jewel?” the hobbit asks, looking up at Thorin in confusion. “How am I supposed to... I mean, there must be hundreds down there. How will I know which one is right?”  
  
“Trust me. You will know this gemstone when you see it,” Thorin tells him. “Now, go, and quickly...”  
  
“Uncle, wait! You don't mean to send our hobbit by himself?” Fíli interrupts, several of the other dwarves nodding their agreement. “Bilbo can't face Smaug alone; it's much too dangerous. And what's this about stealing? I thought you meant to kill the beast.”  
  
“Don't be a fool!” the dwarf lord snaps, his glare silencing the rest of his companions before they try to challenge him as well. “We cannot fight the dragon. With only ten other warriors – and not one an archer – that would be suicide. Even if your brother were here, this is why I hired Bilbo. I needed a burglar to infiltrate the Lonely Mountain underneath Smaug's nose and bring back the Arkenstone. Once I have that gem, I can summon up an army and then, well, then we shall drive the monster out.”  
  
Only the King's Jewel will make his crown legitimate, giving him the power to silence all his doubters. Thorin will call an army of dwarven warriors to his side to fight the dragon and when Smaug the Terrible has fallen, he will mount the monster's head on a spike above the gate. The dragon's skull will serve as a reminder, a warning to anyone who thinks of standing against the King of Carven Stone.  
  
“I... I suppose that makes sense,” his sister-son replies. “But still, you cannot wish to risk our hobbit's life. Let me go in with him, uncle. I would keep our burglar safe.”  
  
“It's all right, Fíli,” Bilbo says, denying the prince's offer before Thorin can do the same. The hobbit reaches out and touches Fíli's shoulder, giving the younger dwarf a smile that makes his uncle burn with sudden jealousy. “You do not need to do that. I appreciate the offer but I signed on to be your burglar and I will not let your people down. Indeed, I promised I would do this and I think that I must try. Smaug is probably sleeping anyway.”  
  
“All right, if you're sure,” Fíli murmurs. “But if you get in trouble, just shout and we'll be there.”  
  
“I will,” the hobbit promises. Then he turns away, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders firmly as though to pin his courage down.  
  
“Do be careful,” Thorin tells Bilbo softly before he steps into the mountain and the hobbit's answering smile warms him from head to toe. The dwarf is not a monster. He loves his burglar dearly and does not wish to see him die. But Thorin also loves his people and his kingdom and missing this chance to help them would destroy him utterly. If the dwarf lord wants to stand with pride before his maker then he cannot stop on the edge of glory; he cannot let his future slip away.  
  
Besides, Bilbo has proved himself quite sneaky over the course of their long journey. The hobbit has managed to evade goblins, spiders, and the elves of Mirkwood; Thorin should not worry about a single dragon. His beloved will be fine.  
  
 _This is the only option. I must have that gemstone now._  
  
The dwarf lord doesn't doubt this statement. He doesn't doubt his choices or the future that he sees. But Bilbo is barely out of sight before Thorin starts to doubt his burglar; the hobbit can't possibly succeed. Despite Bilbo's courage, the dwarf's beloved is no warrior and he has never faced a monster such as Smaug the Terrible. If Bilbo wakes the dragon, he will be slaughtered instantly – _and he had best do no such thing before he finds the Arkenstone._  
  
Every passing minute puts Thorin more on edge and soon he cannot stand still anymore. Instead, the dwarf lord paces in front of the secret entrance, glaring at his companions when they try to speak. Thorin isn't in the mood for conversation, not when he knows that Fíli isn't pleased with his decision and judging by their expressions, half his company agrees.  
  
However, all personal feelings aside, their burglar must still pull his weight. If Bilbo is to receive a share of the Lonely Mountain's treasure, then he must earn his prize and there is no one else with the specific skills they need. No one else with a scent that Smaug won't pinpoint instantly.  
  
 _Although…_  
  
Perhaps Thorin should convince the hobbit to relinquish his portion of the gold. After all, Bilbo won't need treasure when living as the dwarf lord's consort and Azsâlul'abad will have many mouths to feed. It may be years before the Lonely Mountain can support his people fully and dwarves have always relied more on trade than self-sufficiency. Trade that must be bought with coin if Thorin knows his allies' greed. The dwarf lord must secure his kingdom before the debtors and the beggars come a calling and if he is to do this, he must have plenty of gold along with the Arkenstone.  
  
But his burglar still hasn't returned when the mountain suddenly starts shaking and the secret passage glows with reddish light. Thorin's companions trade worried glances, their expressions mirroring the misgivings inside the dwarf lord’s heart.  
  
“What was that?” Fíli asks. “Should I go check on Bilbo?”  
  
“Give him more time,” his uncle replies.  
  
“Time to do what? Die?” Balin says and Thorin did not expect mutiny from that direction. Not at all.  
  
“You're afraid,” he growls at the old warrior. Balin has always been one of Thorin's most loyal supporters; he should not be questioning the dwarf lord now. “You are afraid and hiding your fear behind concern and cowardice.”  
  
“Of course, we're afraid,” Fíli cuts in. “We're worried about _you_. And Bilbo. This isn't like you, uncle. This isn't honorable.”  
  
“A sickness lies upon that treasure hoard,” Balin adds. “A sickness that drove your grandfather mad.”  
  
“I am not my grandfather!”  
  
“So prove it,” Fíli challenges hotly. “Bilbo has saved your life thrice over. He saved you from Azog and from the Mirkwood's spiders; he rescued us from Thranduil's kingdom and if you will not go to help him, then let me go instead.”  
  
That is the last straw. Thorin does not need a lecture about loyalty from his damn sister-son. So the dwarf lord draws his sword and marches into the secret passage, ordering the others to remain outside until he knows what's going on. He doesn't want to endanger the rest of his companions if he doesn't have to and there is still a chance that Bilbo has only been delayed.  
  
However, as Thorin walks the deeper into the mountain, he becomes more certain that this is not the case. The dwarf lord can hear the echoes of a voice ringing through the tunnels, sinister and booming though he can't make out the words. There is only one creature such a voice could belong to; the monster who had stolen Thorin's hearth and home.  
  
Smaug had destroyed everything that the dwarf lord cared about and in this moment, all he wants is to see the dragon burn. Smaug must suffer for the wrongs that he has done.  
  
But when Thorin finally sees Bilbo, the burglar is running toward him. He's sprinting up the stairs instead of fighting Smaug or thieving as he should. His hobbit is a _coward_ and when the dwarf lord sees that Bilbo's hands are empty, rage washes through his mind. The burglar has failed to keep his promise, has failed _him_ , and there can only be one punishment.  
  
Thorin stops Bilbo’s flight with the edge of his blade, his mouth twisting into a feral grin as blood drips down the hobbit's neck. His burglar shouts something about Smaug but the dwarf lord will not listen to excuses. Bilbo either turns back now or dies by Thorin's hand.  
  
His love for the hobbit seems a pale and distant thing next to the fury in his veins. The dwarf lord does not care that he owes Bilbo several life debts and meant to marry him. Such emotions cannot touch Thorin; the past cannot sway him from his purpose any more than the betrayal shining in his burglar's eyes. All that matters is the Arkenstone. All that matters is destroying his kingdom's enemies and Bilbo would have died then if Fíli hadn't stayed the dwarf lord's hand.  
  
“Thorin, what are you doing?!” the prince shouts, wresting his uncle's sword away from their burglar. He had not expected to find this when he'd followed Thorin; he was only worried for his amrâbulnas and unable to stand by waiting anymore.  
  
Doing nothing while Bilbo and his uncle faced the dragon would not win Fíli any favors and the erratic flashes of emotion he'd been receiving from the hobbit spoke more of terror than victory. The prince's connection with Bilbo seemed to be getting stronger – or perhaps it was Kíli's unwelcome silence making those faint whispers deafening. The hobbit had not acknowledged any difference – he was too busy loving Thorin – but Fíli found himself running inside the secret passage to help him anyway.  
  
Even if Bilbo was never more than a dear friend, even if the hobbit married Thorin and never once looked back, the prince could not allow his amrâbulnas to face danger by himself. Fíli was prepared to fight a dragon. He was prepared for anything but the sight of Thorin with a blade to Bilbo's neck.  
  
Although the blond dwarf had wanted to punch his uncle several times during their journey, Fíli had never truly wished to kill him until now. But the prince saw red when he met Bilbo's panicked eyes.  
  
“What are you doing?” Fíli shouts again, shoving his amrâbulnas behind him and glaring at the dwarf lord. “Uncle! Answer me!”  
  
The prince is prepared to stab Thorin if he won't back down but the other dwarf barely seems to notice that his sister-son is present, his gaze strangely hazy despite the violence in his eyes. Instead, it is Bilbo who responds. The hobbit lays a hand on Fíli's shoulder and murmurs, “He didn't mean it. It's all right. Can we please get out of here?”  
  
“Are you crazy? It is **not** all right!” the prince growls, rounding on his burglar. Bilbo has put up with far too much already and this is where he draws the line. Nothing about this situation is remotely fine.  
  
However, before Fíli can get into a proper rant about unhealthy relationships and things that are very _not okay_ , the dwarf learns the true reason that Bilbo didn't want to have this conversation now. Smaug the Terrible is suddenly bearing down upon them in a wave of flame and fury and the trio dives for cover just as the rest of their companions appear upon the steps.  
  
“You will burn!” the dragon roars, spilling flame in all directions. Fíli can feel the heat from feet away, Smaug's fire raising blisters even though it does not touch his skin.  
  
Now that he has seen this creature in the flesh, the prince doesn't know how he and Kíli ever thought that they could win. The brothers were fools; Thorin and his companions were all fools and now they are going to pay for their folly with their lives. The dwarves would have needed an army in order to have a prayer of winning; with eleven, they need a miracle simply to survive.  
  
With this thought in mind, the dwarves take their chance and run as soon as the wyrm stops spitting fire. Smaug is blocking off the secret passage so Thorin's company is forced to flee deeper into the mountain, the dragon following only a few breaths behind.  
  
“Did we lose him?” Dori whispers when the group rounds another corner and the roar of flames dies out. But the dwarf has barely spoken before Smaug drops down right in front of them, the wyrm's chest glowing bright red as he prepares to roast his prey alive.  
  
“Head to the western guardroom! There may be a way out!” Thorin shouts. He jumps from the causeway as the dwarves are forced to scatter, Smaug's flames licking at their heels.  
  
Fíli grabs Bilbo and dives left when the fire rushes toward them. The prince makes sure that he lands first so as not to crush his hobbit, though he's unable to hold back a curse when he slams into the stone. His hip is probably going to bruise, too much pressure at this angle, but he won't allow the pain to slow him down. The dwarf just pushes himself to his feet and then grabs Bilbo’s hand without thinking to help his hobbit up as well.  
  
Skin to skin for the first time and the prince nearly falls when the burglar's emotions slam into his mind. Because this touch is not a touch, it is _fear, panic, worry_ as the ashânumahâl sings out strong.  
  
The connection nearly overwhelms Fíli after so long with naught but shadows, the dwarf and his hobbit resonating in perfect harmony. Yet the bond is not complete, not yet, and the prince almost starts weeping from the joy of it when he feels Kíli join their song. With Bilbo's strength to bolster him, the dwarf can sense his brother across the leagues that separate them. Fíli feels the archer awaken and reach out for his amrâbulnâs, his spirit weak but growing stronger, and this right here is worth both the struggle and the cost. This is what the three of them were made for, what they were bound for, and Fíli will not doubt Mahal's choice again.  
  
Not even when Bilbo pulls away and the link is broken, the hobbit shaking his head as though to clear stray cobwebs from his mind. What connection remains speaks only of confusion before even that sensation slips away and Fíli is left with emptiness where his burglar had been.  
  
Bilbo's silence hurts all the sharper now that he's felt true completion and yet the prince cannot stop smiling. Because Fíli is finally certain that this blankness is not natural; Mahal did not forge their binding with a flaw. His brother was right; somehow the burglar's denial is holding back their Maker's blessing. Bilbo is the one controlling their ashânumahâl and the princes need only win him over to feel that joy again.  
  
Fíli is even more determined to succeed now that he knows just how good the three of them would be. His sense of purpose is matched in kind by Kíli's, the archer glowing once more in his brother's heart where he belongs. The princes' bond is the foundation on which Fíli built his world and even running from a dragon seems much brighter than before.  
  
Although the dwarves' chances are quite slim – as slim as a fine-edged axe – that doesn't make their quest impossible. Dangerous, yes, but Fíli will keep himself and Bilbo from being eaten by the dragon no matter what it takes. He will not have Kíli recover from his injury only to perish from the loss of his amrâbulnâs instead.  
  
Unfortunately, staying alive is far from easy since Smaug dogs the steps of Thorin's companions with a single-minded rage. The wyrm is everywhere at once, his claws scraping the walkways high above them and his dread fire waiting at the end of every turn.  
  
Fíli has to pull Bilbo down half a dozen side tunnels to keep from being roasted, grateful for the stone sense that keeps him from getting lost. With each near miss, the prince's boots grow a bit more singed and the hobbit's eyes a bit more panicked, Smaug's furious insults echoing like thunder from the stone. It's impossible to tell how close the wyrm is following and the pair runs until their breath burns inside their lungs.  
  
Eventually Fíli and Bilbo reach the western guardroom and the prince is overjoyed to find the rest of their companions waiting there. But this relief is short-lived, the dwarf's heart sinking quickly as he looks around. Thorin's company will not escape in this direction; the passage is blocked with rubble and the floor of the guardroom is covered with the scorched bodies of their kin.  
  
“They must have come here, hoping beyond hope,” Balin whispers, his voice wracked with grief. “With the exits blocked, it would have been a slaughter and that wyrm is not the type to leave his prey alive.”  
  
“Can we not fight?” Fíli asks. “Smaug is powerful, I know, but the legends say that all dragons have a weakness. Have our kin not triumphed against his kind before?”  
  
“With an army, maybe, or an archer like your brother,” Dori tells the blond dwarf with a slow shake of his head. “But even then, we would likely not survive.”  
  
“We could try to reach the mines,” Nori offers, looking at Ori and Dwalin worriedly. “We might last a few days in the deeps.”  
  
“No, we will not run and hide like cowards,” Thorin growls and for a moment, he looks like his old self again. He looks like a leader worthy of a crown. “Fíli is right. Even if it's hopeless, I would rather die with a weapon in my hands. Head for the forges.”  
  
“We'll never make it,” Balin protests. “Smaug will hunt us down.”  
  
“Not all of us. Not if we're careful. Lead the dragon to the forges,” the dwarf lord orders firmly. “This may end in fire, but dwarf and wyrm will burn together if we must burn at all. I will claim the dragon’s beating heart as a token of our victory so that Mahal knows his children were sons of Durin to the last.”  
  
Thorin’s plan is mad and yet, what other choice do the dwarves have? They cannot run from Smaug forever and if the dragon is too strong to face in open combat, perhaps something mad will be their path to victory.  
  
Even if they fail, Fíli would rather go down fighting than hiding in the dark. The prince promised that he would change the law or give his life in the attempt and he will not break that promise. He owes that much to his brother and their allies for getting them this far. Indeed, if Nori feels as much for Dwalin as Fíli felt from his completed trinity then he doesn't know how the other dwarves can stand to be apart.  
  
The prince isn't that strong. He would fight to Valinor and back for the chance to keep his hobbit; he will break his uncle's heart and feel no guilt at all. Even without the ashânumahâl, Thorin doesn't deserve to court Bilbo anymore.  
  
He may be the King Under the Mountain, but that does not give him leave to attack his future consort without cause. Even though the dwarf lord appears to have regained his senses for the moment, Fíli cannot trust him. The prince saw the light of madness in his uncle's eyes – the same dragon sickness that ruined Thorin's grandfather – and he intends to watch the dwarf lord closely from now on. He does not wish to hurt his uncle, but he cannot allow Thorin to hurt Bilbo if his thoughts grow dark again.  
  
However, when the company starts their run to the forges, the hobbit seems to have forgotten that his beloved tried to kill him. Instead of fearing Thorin, Bilbo glues himself to the dwarf lord's side and watches Fíli warily.  
  
The hobbit twitches fiercely when the prince walks closer and while he cannot understand it – _didn't he feel our bond as I did?_ – Fíli doesn't have time to discover what has spooked his burglar now.  
  
What the prince doesn't realize is that the ashânumahâl is the problem as far as Bilbo is concerned. When Fíli touched him, the hobbit's heart glowed molten and he had never such perfect joy before. It spread through his body like a bonfire, warming him from head to toe, and yet he somehow knew that this emotion did not belong to him alone. Bilbo could feel Fíli deep inside him, a sharp delight that matched his smile, and then the hobbit sensed his brother, strange as the thought still seems. Kíli's wild joy bubbled up within him, the archer greeting Bilbo with a wave of happiness. Love and welcome wrapped around the burglar and in that moment, he was treasured as he had never been before.  
  
 _This is how my life is meant to be,_ the hobbit thought with blinding clarity. Yet even as this understanding burst within him, Bilbo stepped back again.  
  
Because the burglar is in love with Thorin, thank you very much. Although the dwarf lord has been acting strangely since reaching Erebor, Bilbo is a Baggins not a fickle Brandybuck and he will not give his chosen up for some fever dream. What he felt could not be real; it was just the Lonely Mountain playing tricks upon his mind.  
  
So the hobbit leaves Fíli’s side as soon as they find the others, staying close to Thorin and trying not to think about the prince’s touch again. Bilbo does not trust it; happiness unearned is happiness without a clear foundation and he will not trust his future to such shifting sands as that. Yet the echo of connection lingers like a whisper on his skin until the hobbit finds himself watching Fíli suspiciously. Bilbo doesn’t know if he would be strong enough to let go a second time and he will not risk disaster by giving in to lunacy.  
  
Although, if the burglar did, he would be in good company. Madness seems to lie at the heart of Erebor and he is truly worried about Thorin’s state of mind. While the dwarf lord’s eyes have lost their burning glow, his words carry hate enough to burden Bilbo’s heart. The hobbit thought this quest was about reclaiming the dwarves’ homeland, not carving out a pound of flesh to avenge their suffering.  
  
In fact, Bilbo doesn’t much like the ruthless stranger that he’s begun to see in Thorin. The burglar doesn’t know that person and yet, he cannot judge the dwarf lord for his anger, not when returning to the Lonely Mountain has clearly made his old scars bleed. The hobbit’s beloved has been reminded of everything that Smaug stole from his people and if he hates, he does not do it without cause. Thorin has decided to make a stand – he is done running from his family’s enemies – and while Bilbo fears that this plan will end in failure, he will not abandon his beloved now.  
  
So the burglar swallows his doubts as Thorin’s company runs deeper into the mountain, trying to reach Erebor’s main forges before the dragon hunts them down. Glóin and Nori disappear along the way, forced from the path by the same blast of fire that singes Bilbo’s coat.  
  
The hobbit sees Dwalin falter for a moment, the warrior taking one step toward the edge before Ori grabs his arm. Bilbo cannot hear what the younger dwarf whispers to his husband, but Dwalin turns and charges forward seconds later – leading Thorin’s company down the final stretch. Nori and Glóin will have to fend for themselves until the dragon falls – _not that I should worry about Nori anyway. He always seems to come out fine._  
  
Truthfully, Bilbo is far more worried about his own survival when Thorin decides to use Smaug’s flame to ignite the forges’ frozen coals. He taunts the dragon into a frenzy and then smiles at his burglar – a smile that says, “Oh, of course, this was totally the plan.”  
  
That grin makes Bilbo shake his head in exasperation even as he ducks away from Smaug’s latest burst of fire – _these damn reckless dwarves will be the death of me._ But he still moves to stand by a switch on the upper landing when Thorin gives the order; he doesn't know what this lever does, but he will pull it when he's asked.  
  
So Bilbo stands and waits for Thorin’s signal, watching the dwarf lord make all manner of mysterious preparations on the floor below. Although dwarvish mechanisms are ingenuous, they seem rather complicated to the hobbit’s eyes and he’s surprised that Thorin never falters as he runs around the floor. The dwarf lord hits switches and pulls levers while Balin and Dori hammer Smaug with flash-flames and Fíli does his best to tie their enemy in knots.  
  
The prince’s task is dangerous and Bilbo has to bite back a cry when Smaug’s claws catch on his coat. But then Nori and Glóin appear in mining carts above the dragon, tangling the wyrm with ropes so that Fíli can dart away.  
  
Together the dwarves manage to distract Smaug until Thorin is finally ready. The dwarf lord stands at one end of the forges and shouts out the dragon’s name.  
  
“Come here, you witless worm!” he continues, his voice booming out above the sound of turning gears. Thorin taunts Smaug with insults until the drake charges forward, his chest glowing molten once again. Then Thorin signals to Bilbo and the hobbit pulls his lever just as Smaug runs by.  
  
 _So that's what it does,_ he thinks when a dozen streams of water pour out of the wall. They hit the dragon square in the face, dousing his fire in an enormous cloud of steam. Suddenly the burglar finds himself the focus of Smaug's anger and it's all he can do to dodge those snapping jaws. Bilbo tumbles through the air as the stone stairs crack underneath him, the hobbit bouncing off the dragon's leg before then rolling to his feet.  
  
“Lead him to the Gallery of Kings,” Thorin shouts from somewhere behind the burglar, apparently forgetting that the hobbit has no idea where that is. But Bilbo must be going in the right direction since the dwarf lord doesn't offer further instructions after that.  
  
The hobbit runs as fast as he can, sprinting through the nearest archway into an enormous hall. Each wall is lined with statues, ancient dwarven kings staring down from lofty heights. This must be the gallery that Thorin mentioned but those stern stone faces offer Bilbo no advice.  
  
So the burglar just keeps on running as Smaug smashes through the wall behind him. Chunks of stone fly past his head before he's suddenly enveloped by a falling tapestry. The dragon could have killed him then, ended Bilbo's life with one quick bite as he flails in heavy fabric, but Smaug can't resist the chance to taunt his enemy.  
  
“You think you can escape me, Barrel-rider?” the wyrm snarls, his claws digging giant furrows in the stone. “You think you can deceive me with your lies and flattery? You have come from Laketown. These filthy dwarves and those worthless Lakemen have hatched a scheme to steal my treasure; they dare to think that they can kill me and claim this mountain for their own. But I am Smaug the Terrible and tonight the fools shall burn!”  
  
The dragon lopes past Bilbo toward the far end of the hall where the hobbit can just make out a blocked up gate against the stars outside. Smaug is going to take his vengeance by attacking Laketown and a bolt of terror shoots through the burglar at this thought.  
  
“Wait, please!” the hobbit shouts as he struggles to his feet. “You must not go to Laketown. You cannot, please, my deeds are not their fault. If you must punish someone, punish me!”  
  
“You _care_ about them, do you? Good. Then you can watch them die,” the wyrm replies. There is no mercy in Smaug's heart and Bilbo doesn't know why he expected otherwise. However, his plea still served a purpose; he delayed the dragon long enough for Thorin to arrive.  
  
“Smaug!” the dwarf lord shouts from one side of the gallery. “Come face me, lizard! You craven coward!”  
  
Thorin's voice echoes through the hall, drawing the dragon's attention with the promise of swifter vengeance against his enemies.  
  
Bilbo runs for cover as Smaug stalks toward the dwarf lord. He ducks behind a pillar and then turns to watch the confrontation with his heart lodged in his throat. Thorin looks so small next to the dragon, barely more than a mouthful for a beast that size.  
  
 _Where are our companions?_ the hobbit thinks, looking around the chamber. _Fíli would not allow his uncle to face the wyrm along._  
  
Yet Bilbo cannot see them. The dwarf lord appears to be standing by himself on top of a large structure that is wrapped in iron bands, this mess of stone and metal so tall that he can look Smaug right in the eye. Thorin keeps taunting his enemy as the fire drake slinks closer and if this plan does not succeed – the plan that Bilbo really isn't sure of – then the hobbit is about to watch the dwarf lord die.  
  
Indeed, the burglar is close to doing something stupid when Thorin shouts a word in Khuzdûl and his companions reappear. Fíli and Glóin pull him to safety while the others throw their weight against the ropes beneath his feet. Smaug stops short, watching curiously as the dwarves strain with effort and the hall begins to echo with the sound of snapping bands. Rope by rope Thorin's companions free the structure that he had been standing on and when the last band falls, that giant mold bursts open to reveal the shining golden statue of a dwarven king.  
  
Solid gold from head to toe, the sheer ostentatiousness of the image makes the hobbit wince. Clearly Thranduil had been correct about Thrór's lack of subtlety.  
  
However, Smaug doesn't share Bilbo's disapproval. The dragon prowls closer, ignoring Thorin and the other dwarves to look the statue in the eyes. He seems fascinated by his reflection in the shining metal and when the statue suddenly begins to crumple, the wyrm is caught off guard.  
  
To be honest, Bilbo is surprised as well since Thorin hadn't exactly shared the details of his plan. If he had, the burglar might have asked him why on earth he thought a fire drake would be hurt by liquid gold. But perhaps the dwarf lord knows something that his hobbit doesn't because his crazy scheme appears to work.  
  
As the statue dissolves, a wave of gold slams into Smaug and knocks him from his feet. The dragon thrashes wildly, screaming as the molten metal coats his skin from horns to tail. Bilbo ducks back behind the pillar when that wave of gold rushes toward him, passing so close that a few sizzling drops land on the bottom of his trousers and leave tiny burning holes.  
  
The burglar has nowhere to run, but before the gold can overtake him, the metal starts to settle in the center of the hall. There is a depression in the stonework, one large enough to bury Smaug completely when the weight of liquid gold drags him under once again.  
  
The metal closes over his head and for one breathless moment there is silence. Bilbo cannot see any sign of the dragon - the surface of the gold a smooth unbroken mirror – and surely nothing could have survived that molten avalanche. However, the hobbit has barely started to relax his guard when Smaug resurfaces.  
  
“Revenge?! I will show you **_revenge_**!” the fire drake roars, lurching from the pool of gold and charging down the hall. He smashes through the gates of Erebor without pausing and then runs onto the plain. Bilbo chases after him while the rest of Thorin's company stands gaping, the hobbit reaching the exit just as the dragon leaps into the air. Smaug shakes the gold from his scales with one great shudder before spreading his wings and gliding off toward Laketown, the rushing wind carrying his last few words to the hobbit's ears.  
  
“I am fire,” the dragon growls. “I am... **_death_**!”  
  
Bilbo can only watch Smaug disappear into the distance, helpless to stop him or warn those still in Laketown of the danger they now face.  
  
“What have we done?” the hobbit whispers, dropping to his knees in horror. Bilbo fears for Bard and for his children, for every innocent who will pay in blood for the mistakes of Thorin's company. He's afraid for Óin and Bofur and the safety of his friends. But most of all, the hobbit fears for Kíli, the idea of a world without the archer making him tremble deep inside.  
  
 _“Kíli!”_  
  
For a second, Bilbo thinks that he has spoken. But then Fíli drops down next to him. The prince's expression is a picture of despair to match the burglar's and he buries his face in his hands with a mournful cry.  
  
“We have killed him,” Fíli moans as the hobbit wraps an arm around his shoulders, too distressed to worry about triggering another vision now. Indeed, Bilbo cannot separate the prince's feelings from the throb of terror within his chest. In this Fíli and the burglar are united, a single name on both their lips, and several miles away, in the city on the water, Kíli sits up suddenly.  
 _  
_


	11. Ze'sasekh

The younger prince's strength did not last for very long after Fíli left him, his memory of those minutes still fragmented even now. Kíli remembers watching his amrâbulnâs disappear, their connection growing ever weaker as distance took its toll. He remembers falling into darkness when his remaining strength gave out.  
  
After that, the prince can recall only flashes: pain and desperation and sneering faces turning his small group away. Bofur and Óin had carried him through Laketown until a lack of options drove them to Bard's door.  
  
Although the archer was not lucid for that conversation, he doubts the man was pleased to see them after what the Master said. Even so, Bard must have granted them assistance because the bargeman's eldest daughter is wiping the sweat from Kíli's brow when he wakes up again.  
  
Her hands are kind and gentle, but her touch does little to ease the fire in his skin. The archer's wound is throbbing to the rhythm of his heartbeat, every breath causing another stab of agony. Yet Kíli cannot lie still. He wants Fíli and Bilbo to be with him. He wants his amrâbulnâs here so that he doesn't have to die alone.  
  
“Ssh, you're all right,” Sigrid murmurs as the young dwarf whimpers faintly. Her heart twinges when he reaches out, seeking comfort blindly from any source he can. She takes his hand and squeezes before wetting her rag and wiping Kíli's face again. If this fever doesn't break, the dwarf probably won't live to see tomorrow and his friends clearly know that his time is running out.  
  
The dwarven healer sent his companion out to search for kingsfoil almost an hour ago, claiming that the weed would help bring the archer’s fever down. Sigrid has never heard this, but she is also not a healer so perhaps this Óin is right.  
  
However, his friend has yet to return and while they wait, Sigrid can only try to keep Kíli comfortable. She has just turned to wet her rag again when the whole house shakes. The girl almost falls off her chair as the building trembles, putting out one hand for balance while the dust rattles from the walls.  
  
“What was that?” Bain asks.  
  
“It's coming from the mountain,” Tilda says from her place by the window. Sigrid trades a glance with both her siblings before looking at their father worriedly.  
  
Everyone in Laketown knows that danger comes when the earth trembles, each new generation cautioning their children against the day the dragon wakes. This threat has lain over their city for so long that it has almost lost all meaning – most Lakemen were more likely to be struck by lightning than to die by dragon's flame. But now Thorin Oakenshield has dared to enter the Lonely Mountain and it seems that day has finally come.  
  
“You should leave us,” Óin tells Bard quietly. Kíli is in no condition to travel, but the healer would not see the bargeman suffer for his hospitality. “Take your children and flee this place as fast as possible. I know that Thorin means to fight Smaug, but I do not know if he'll succeed.”  
  
“There is nowhere to run,” the man replies with a frown. “Thranduil will not take us and we have no army beyond the Master's bully boys. Even if we did, Laketown cannot stand against the dragon. This city will burn to ashes as the prophecy foretold.”  
  
There is no hope inside Bard's heart. Girion's descendants have passed down the tale of his last stand from father to son for generations and while Bain sees courage in the story, the bargeman just sees failure. How could he kill Smaug with one Black Arrow when Girion shot an entire quiver at the dragon fruitlessly? Bard and his kin should simply accept whatever fate sweeps down from the Lonely Mountain, their futures bought and sold by Thorin Oakenshield.  
  
“Father? Are we going to die?”  
  
“Will Smaug come here and eat us?”  
  
The answer is yes to both these questions but when the bargeman look at Tilda's face, the words stick inside his throat. He has not taught his children to give up in the face of hardship and Bard can brave Smaug's flames for them.  
  
The last of Girion's line will go down fighting and while Bard does not truly think that he can kill the dragon, maybe he can buy his children time enough to flee. A small boat might slip beneath Smaug's notice if he draws the creature's eye.  
  
“None of you will die here. I will kill the dragon first,” Bard pronounces. Then he reaches up into the rafters and pulls down the Black Arrow. The bargeman never thought he'd use the weapon even if it was his birthright, the arrow passed down through the generations ever since Girion’s eldest daughter took it from the wreckage of her home. She kept it as a reminder of her father’s courage and Bard is grateful to her now.  
  
“Da? How long has that arrow been there?” Sigrid asks in consternation, clearly wondering if she's been hanging herbs and cooking pots from an ancient weapon all her life.  
  
“Never mind that! You have a Black Arrow!” Óin exclaims. “That means we have a chance. Why didn’t you mention the weapon earlier?”  
  
“Because I hoped to convince Thorin Oakenshield to turn away from folly, not give the fool dwarf further hope. This arrow would have stayed hidden if he'd left the dragon unmolested but now it seems I have no other choice,” Bard retorts before turning back to his children. “Sigrid and Tilda, you stay here. Gather up food, clothing, and whatever else you think that you might need. I want you to go to shore before the dragon comes; you will be much safer there. Once I am settled by the wind-lance, I will send Bain back to join you. Your brother knows the hidden routes from Laketown that the guards will not be watching and three of you working together should be able to steer our barge to shore. Promise me that you will go as soon as he returns.”  
  
Sigrid nods, her expression worried but determined, and Bard doesn't think he has never been prouder of his daughter than he is right now.  
  
“That's my girl,” he says. The bargeman looks over at Kíli for a moment before telling Óin. “If your friend is well enough to move by then, you are welcome to go with them. I would not force you to remain with a dragon on the prowl.”  
  
“Thank you,” the healer answers. “We may accept your offer if Bofur returns quickly. Although, I fear it is more likely that Kíli will have passed.”  
  
“All the more reason that you should not die as well,” Bard tells him before hefting the Black Arrow and walking to the door with Bain. The Master’s spies should have left hours ago but the bargeman still looks around warily as he slips outside. Bard sticks to the smaller streets as he and his son make their way toward the wind-lance. Even so, the pair is forced to stop and hide from several guard patrols; the Master’s men are out in force.  
  
Thankfully, he and Bain reach the Master’s mansion without being seen and when the bargeman glances up at the roof, the wind-lance is still there. The way his luck has been going recently, Bard was half expecting the Master to have torn it down for scrap.  
  
“Listen to me carefully,” he tells his son after taking in the lay of the land. “I need you to distract the guards around the mansion. Once it’s clear, I’ll climb up the tower and set the arrow to the bow.”  
  
No one should notice him up there, especially not if the dragon is really on his way. As long as Bard stays out of sight, the Master’s men should have much more important things to think about.  
  
Bain nods once, his expression nervous but resolute and the bargemen is struck by a wave of affection for his son. The boy won’t allow fear to stop him from doing as his father asks and Bard can only hope that he manages the same. He hopes that his courage will not fail him when he sees the dragon’s rage.  
  
Bard's son takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders before starting toward the mouth of the alley. But he’s only gone a few steps before a sudden shout makes him freeze up in surprise.  
  
“There he is! Bard! After him!”  
  
The cry comes from the opposite end of the street and the pair whirls around to see a squad of men running toward them, the guard captain Braga at their head. Judging by the men’s expressions, this can’t mean anything good and Bard grabs Bain by the arm.  
  
“Quickly! Over there!” he says, shoving his son down another smaller street. The bargeman needs to lose the Master’s guards before he can climb the tower but running with the Black Arrow is awkward at best and Bard won’t risk Bain being captured. The Master could use his son as leverage far too easily.  
  
So he pulls the boy into a nearby alley, waiting until the guards run past and then giving the Black Arrow to his son.  
  
“Keep it safe,” Bard says. “Keep it hidden. I'll distract the guards.”  
  
“I won’t leave you!”  
  
“You must,” the bargeman orders firmly. “Whatever you do, stay out of sight. I’ll meet you back here as soon as I can.”  
  
“I don't want... I... Just be careful,” Bain tells his father fiercely. Then he runs around the corner, ducking out of sight when the Master's guards begin to circle back. While he flees, Bard just stands there waiting, wanting to give his son enough time to get away.  
  
“Bard,” the guard captain says when he draws closer.  
  
“Braga,” the bargeman replies flatly.  
  
“You're under arrest,” the other man announces and Bard can't even be surprised. He just wants to know what lies the Master has decided to tell now.  
  
“On what charge?” Bard asks. “You know that I've done nothing.”  
  
“Any charge the Master chooses,” Braga tells him, not even trying to pretend that this arrest is justified. “You've never been able to bite your tongue and the Master has decided to charge you with high treason. You should never have challenged his authority in front of Thorin Oakenshield.”  
  
“We don't have time for this,” Bard says, still hoping that the captain might see reason. “Smaug is coming; don't you realize that? You must have heard the mountain rumbling.”  
  
“You really would say anything, wouldn't you?” Braga asks with a sneer. “A few earthquakes do not make a dragon and I won't have you inciting this town to riot. However, since you've saved us the effort of dragging you out of your house, I'll make you a deal: we'll leave your kin alone if you come quietly. Otherwise, well, the Master might decide that he has room for your whole family in his prison and I promise I'd keep a very close eye on those pretty girls of yours.”  
  
Several of the Master's guardsmen flinch at their captain's answer. But their shame won't save Bard; this has gone too far. The bargeman can't trust them to do the right thing and he can't trust the Master's generosity to protect his children now.  
  
So he throws the first punch, his fist slamming into Braga's chin and knocking the captain off his feet. Then Bard ducks through the opening and runs in the opposite direction from the Master's mansion. He's hoping to lose the guards in the narrow streets of Laketown before returning to his son.  
  
Bain watches from his hiding place as his dad leads Braga and his men away. He knows he was supposed to run but he just couldn't do it. He needs to know for sure that his father is all right. However, Bain can't break his promise to protect the arrow either. So he looks around for a place to hide the weapon, not wanting to carry Girion's last hope around the streets of Laketown.  
  
As he glances around, his eye catches on the large statue of the Master in the main canal. Bain's dad hates that statue – he called it a pointless waste of money when the Master had it built – but the boy only cares about the cluster of boats tied to its base.  
  
Widow Hedra's boat sits among them, filled with tools and rope enough to hide the Black Arrow from anyone who passes by. She definitely won't be going for any late night boat rides so the weapon should be safe there and Bain buries the arrow out of sight. Then he runs after his father as quickly as he can.  
  
Bain isn't sure which way his dad went but following the sound of shouting works out well. Indeed, he arrives just in time to see the Master's lackey trip Bard and then knock him out with a wooden oar.  
  
The boy's hands clench into fists as his father is dragged off by the guards. He wants to attack them. He wants to rush at them and beat them with his hands until they let his father go. But Bain knows that the Master’s men would only laugh – or worse, arrest him too.  
  
So he stays silent, waiting until the guards are out of sight before racing toward his home. Bain doesn’t even think about grabbing the Black Arrow; he needs to tell his sisters what has happened. Without Bard to kill the dragon, they have to run right now and maybe, if he begs, the dwarves will agree to help him break his father out.  
  
Bain doesn't look up as he sprints through Laketown. If he had, the boy probably would have stumbled, his limbs gone numb with shock and horror. Because a pack of orcs is making its way across the rooftops, weapons in their hands and vengeance on their minds.  
  
Bolg had not given up after losing Thorin on the river. The orc knew there was only one place that the dwarves could ask for succor and he had led his pack around the water to reach the wooden causeway that connects Laketown to the shore. Indeed, Bolg can smell the dwarves now – at least a few of them are still here in the city – and the orc has no intention of returning to his father without a prize to show him. Azog does not take kindly to failure and he wants these dwarves wiped out.  
  
The orcs slip through Laketown, following the scent of their prey toward Bard’s house. No one notices their passage and in turn, they are too focused on their target to realize that they are being followed by a pair of elves.  
  
Tauriel has spent the last few days tracking Bolg's orcs from Mirkwood with her prince at her side. The captain thought long and hard before choosing to leave the forest; King Thranduil had forbidden her from going beyond his borders many times and she did not defy him lightly. But this was something that the elfine had to do.  
  
She didn’t leave for Kíli, though she had enjoyed their conversation and the orc that she and Legolas had captured spoke of poison in his blood. She didn’t leave in order to kill her enemies, though wiping Bolg and his pack from the earth would be no travesty.  
  
Tauriel left because she could not continue on as she had been any longer. If she did not act, then Thranduil would always see her as a nothing more than a Silvan elf, one the king indulged but did not truly respect and she could not live with that. The future that Tauriel dreamed of required her king's recognition and the captain was prepared to risk the only home she'd ever known in order for the chance. She would do her best to lay Smaug's bloody head at Thranduil's feet or at least prove once and for all that the elves of Mirkwood could not hide within their borders and hope that the world would pass them by.  
  
So Tauriel collected her bow, her arrows, and her daggers and then left the elf king's hall. Her warriors would guard the forest in her absence; if she truly thought her king was threatened, the captain would have set her dreams aside.  
  
The elfine traveled quickly but Legolas caught up to her at the river. She'd half expected him to follow, though she had not dared to hope. Her prince had duties of his own.  
  
 _“You should not be here,”_ Tauriel said softly when the other elf came up beside her.  
  
 _“Neither should you,”_ Legolas replied. _“You know my father forbid us from pursuing this matter any further and even if he hadn’t, no one is allowed to leave the forest on their own.”  
  
“That is true. But you know I have to do this,”_ the elfine told him. _“You know I have to try.”  
  
“Yes. And that’s why I have to join you. I can't let you risk my father’s wrath alone, not when I know that you're doing this for both our benefits. I don’t like these dwarves but I can understand their longing and this land will be brighter if Erebor is restored.”  
  
“Thank you, meleth nin,”_ she said with a faint smile. _“Now come. The light will be fading soon and we need to find the orcs before they catch Thorin's company.”_  
  
The elves followed their targets to Laketown easily enough; both of them were practiced trackers and even if they hadn't been, it wasn't hard to guess where the orcs were headed now. Indeed, Tauriel caught sight of an orc only a few moments after she and Legolas crossed the bridge to Laketown, sharp elven eyes seeing movement where the city's men were blind.  
  
Since then, the pair has been trailing Bolg's orcs through Laketown, hoping that the monsters will lead them to Thorin's company before the dwarves do something foolish. Tauriel would much rather attack Smaug on her own terms; ideally while he's still sleeping inside of Erebor. But the captain is starting to get worried because she hasn't seen any sign of Thorin or his companions and if the dwarves are already in the mountain then they're running out of time.  
  
 _“Wait,”_ Legolas whispers and the elfine pauses. _“Did you see that?”  
  
“See what?”  
  
“Bolg!”_ the prince hisses in reply. _“I thought I recognized the leader of these orcs earlier but now I am sure. That is Bolg, spawn of Azog the Defiler, and he should not be here. Last I heard, that orc was hiding somewhere in the Misty Mountains; whatever errand brought him here bodes ill for everyone.”  
  
“Why? You told me that Thorin slew Azog in the war at Dimrill Dale after the pale orc killed his grandfather; it's not hard to believe that Bolg would want revenge.”  
  
“True, but he wouldn't risk war with Mirkwood without reason,”_ Legolas tells her. _“And I've heard rumors that the Defiler may not be as dead as we all thought. I have a bad feeling about this, Tauriel. Azog's kin have never been known for fighting fair and if the Defiler still lives then we may all be in great danger now. We need to confront Bolg and force him to tell us of his plans.”  
  
“All right. Then we will,”_ Tauriel agrees. However, the words have barely left her mouth before Bolg signals to his orcs. The rest of his pack suddenly darts into a nearby house while the orc stands waiting on the street and the silence of the night is broken by shrill screams.  
  
The elfine pauses, torn between going after Bolg and running to the rescue. If Legolas is right about the orc's motives, then capturing him should probably be the elves' priority. But the captain can't just stand by while Bolg's orcs slaughter innocents.  
  
 _“Come on, melui nin. We help them first,”_ Legolas says and Tauriel gives him a feral grin. She should have known that the other elf would feel the same.  
  
He runs across the rooftops and the captain follows, both elves drawing a matched set of twin swords. Legolas and Tauriel leap into the house right on the orcs' heels and straight into a fight.  
  
Tauriel takes the scene in quickly: two human girls, one of the older dwarves, and Kíli are struggling against the orc pack, the four of them seriously outnumbered and fighting for their lives. The younger girl is barely more than a child but her older sister is throwing everything that she can reach at their attackers while Óin lays into the closest orcs with his staff.  
  
Legolas jumps to their defense as Tauriel fights her way toward Kíli, twin blades slicing through her enemies. The dwarf screams when one of the orcs drags him to the ground, his hand clutching his injured leg. But he comes up swinging, slamming a dagger between the creature's ribs just as Tauriel reaches him.  
  
“Fancy seeing you here,” Kíli says with a wide smirk and the elfine has to laugh.  
  
“You looked like you could use some help,” she replies. Then Tauriel lets out a curse as the dwarf's eyes roll back in his head and he drops down like a rock. She catches Kíli with one arm, biting back another curse when she feels his burning skin. The orc hadn't been lying about the archer's injury. But Tauriel doesn't have time to try to heal him now. So she drops Kíli to the floor as two more orcs attack them, the dwarf landing at her feet with a thud. He'll be all right for the moment and taking out Bolg's pack is her first priority.  
  
Legolas has been making quick work of the other orcs while Tauriel grabbed Kíli and the survivors are starting to think twice about continuing the fight. Cowards, the lot of them, and their courage breaks when the captain decapitates her next opponent flashily.  
  
“Ekinskeld obguranid!” an orc shouts out of the window, calling to Bolg who's still waiting on the street.  
  
“Gur! Arangim!” Bolg shouts back. The surviving orcs spill from Bard's house, one of them nearly tripping over Bain on his way out. The boy was running up the stairs when the orc suddenly bowled him over and it's only his panicked duck that saves him when the monster swings his sword. Thankfully the orc doesn't try again; Bolg's pack is more concerned with survival than killing one human boy tonight.  
  
So Bain climbs up on shaking feet and then runs into the house. He looks around in shock, his eyes widening at the sight of Tauriel and Legolas. The boy has never seen any elves this close before and he doesn't move until Legolas steps out onto the balcony to track his enemies.  
  
“Bain! There you are,” Óin says when he catches sight of the boy. “Is your father in position?”  
  
“No! The guards took him! Braga arrested him on the Master's orders. What's going on? What happened?” Bain exclaims before running over to his sisters. “Sigrid, Tilda, are you both okay?”  
  
“We're fine. But da... You said he's... And all our packing...” Sigrid replies, staring at the wreckage that the orcs made of her home. “We'll have to start again.”  
  
“Packing? No, _Sigrid_ , we have to get him out!” Bain protests, looking at his older sister as though she's gone insane.  
  
“And how exactly are we supposed to do that?” Sigrid asks her brother sharply. “Two girls, a stripling, an old dwarf, and a sick one? We couldn't stand against one guard, let alone them all, and I doubt these elves want to help us lead a jailbreak. No, Bain. Da told us to leave when you returned and that's what we have to do. I promised. So either help me pack or help Óin take care of Kíli; Smaug may be awake already and we cannot stay here waiting 'til we die.”  
  
“I... Okay. I... I guess you're right,” the boy replies after a moment, his shoulders slumping as his indignation dies. He follows Óin over to Kíli and kneels down to grab the prince's shoulder at the older dwarf's command.  
  
“Be careful. He's sick,” Tauriel tells Bain as he and Óin lift Kíli back onto the bed.  
  
“He is dying,” Óin corrects her and the elfine cannot argue. Truthfully, she doesn't know how the archer has survived this long given the clear signs of Morgul poisoning that run across his skin. Tauriel doubts that Kíli has more an hour left to walk upon this earth.  
  
 _“Tauriel, come,”_ Legolas says from the balcony. _“We can do nothing for him and we must leave now or Bolg will get away.”_  
  
He jumps down to the street and the elfine moves to follow him; as much as she hates to admit it, she knows her prince is right. Although the captain has some training as a healer, she has no hope of curing Kíli without the proper herbs. Verbena, chamomile, or willow bark would ease his suffering but only athelas would give Tauriel any hope of burning the poison out.  
  
So she sheathes her weapons and follows after her prince, her feet barely touching the wood before another dwarf almost runs right into her. It's the one with the strange hat and Tauriel's breath catches when she sees what he is holding. This must be a sign from the Valar. Aulë has granted his children a miracle tonight.  
  
“Hey!” the dwarf protests when Tauriel snatches the athelas from his fingers. “I need that!”  
  
 _“Tauriel? What are you doing?”_ Legolas asks behind her. _“We have to go.”_  
  
 _“But I... I can save him,”_ she replies, holding up the athelas as she waves back at the house. Although Tauriel did not leave the forest for Kíli's sake, when faced with the chance to help him, she cannot walk away. _“I have to save him now.”  
  
“All right, melui nin. Be careful,”_ Legolas tells the elfine softly. He understands her decision - Tauriel would not be Tauriel if she chose any differently – and he knows she understands why he cannot stay as well. _“I will track down Bolg and then find you afterward. Wait for me on the shore?”  
  
“I will be there, meleth nin,”_ Tauriel promises. She kisses her prince on the cheek, sending him off with her blessing before running back inside.  
  
“You! I need some water! As hot as you can manage,” the elfine orders sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument. Indeed, Sigrid jumps to obey her. The girl grabs one of the few surviving bowls off the floor and the kettle that's sitting on the fireplace, bringing both items over to Tauriel.  
  
“Put them on the table,” the captain instructs Sigrid as she pins up her sleeves and then turns to the watching dwarves. “I will need you to keep Kíli from moving too much while I drive out the poison. This will be quite painful but it's the only way to save his life.”  
  
“Anything you need,” Óin promises.  
  
“Good. Please remove his bandage, if you would?” Tauriel asks. The healer moves to obey, telling Bofur to roll up Kíli's trousers so that they can reach his wound. Meanwhile, Tauriel tears the athelas into pieces and puts them inside the bowl that Sigrid brought her. She pours water over the leaves, just enough to make a paste, and she's glad to see that the mix is steaming. The heat will help bring out the athelas' healing properties.  
  
Once the paste is ready, Tauriel walks over to her patient. Óin and Bofur are standing ready on either side of the archer and the elfine can't help a frown when she finally gets a good look at Kíli's injury. The wound is dark with poison, angry black lines spreading in all directions, and the dwarf's spirit feels much dimmer than she'd like.  
  
So Tauriel starts to chant, gathering her magic as she covers the prince's wound in athelas. Kíli stirs under her hands, his face twisting with discomfort, and the captain signals the dwarf's companions to hold him now. Once she starts this spell, a break in concentration could be fatal for them both and she cannot trust Kíli not to lash out in his delirium.  
  
Indeed, the archer is not truly conscious. He is caught between awareness and strange dreaming, his mind floating helplessly on a sea of pain. Even Kíli's ashânumahâl cannot bring him from the darkness; his bonds are thin from distance and only weakening.  
  
The dwarf is drowning, his amrâbulnâs slipping through his fingers as the poison drags him down. For Bilbo is a ghost within his grasp and Fíli's strength is not enough to keep him anchored anymore.  
  
 _“Stay with me. You will not die!”_ Tauriel shouts. She can feel the archer slipping and she will not allow it. The elfine presses her hands over Kíli's injury and pours healing magic into the prince's veins.  
  
Her power wraps around the young dwarf's failing spirit, holding his life within his body as she tries to drag him back. But Kíli is too close to death; the captain is burning through her power just keeping him in place. Tauriel doesn't have the skill for this and she's about to lose him when light bursts behind her eyes.  
  
Suddenly strength starts pouring into Kíli from another source, thick bands of magic stretching off toward Erebor. The elfine has never seen anything like it and she certainly can't explain it; if Tauriel didn't know better, she'd think the dwarf was Valar-blessed. However, that does not stop the captain from taking accepting this assistance; she would have to be a fool to turn such aid aside.  
  
By the time the light begins to fade, Tauriel has locked Kíli's spirit back within his body, this added strength enough to tip the balance in her favor. The elfine whispers another spell as she spreads more athelas across the archer's wound; Kíli is no longer dying but she still needs to destroy the poison before his wound can heal. The dwarf screams beneath Tauriel's hands as her magic burns his body clean and when the last drop of evil has finally disappeared, he falls unconscious almost instantly.  
  
However, the archer's stupor quickly turns into a healing sleep and Tauriel can't help but smile even as she sags against the bed. That was a harder fight than she expected but she triumphed in the end.  
  
“He will be all right now,” the elfine tells Kíli's companions, Óin and Bofur breathing twin sighs of relief. Tauriel lets the archer doze, resting for a moment while his companions help Bard's children pack their gear. Fleeing Laketown is the dwarves' next priority and they plan to leave as soon as Kíli is strong enough to move.  
  
The captain may have saved the archer's life, but he is still weak and he will need time to recover his full strength again. However, the prince does not have time, none of them do, and he snaps awake when a wave of panic washes over him.  
  
“Smaug is coming,” Kíli announces to the room with utter certainty. “The dragon is coming; he's on his way to kill us all.”  
  
“How do you know? I have not heard an alarm,” Tauriel replies a little skeptically. She moves back to the archer's side, checking his temperature to see if wound fever has caught his mind again. But his eyes are clear and she feels no hint of poison in his skin.  
  
“My amrâbulnâs are in the mountain and I can feel their fear,” Kíli tells the elfine, though only Óin and Bofur know what these words truly mean. Khazâd rarely speak about such things to outsiders and telling an elf this much already borders on impropriety.  
  
However, while Tauriel doesn't understand the source of the archer's knowledge, his companions do not doubt him and the captain is soon convinced by their certainty. Even if Smaug is not on his way to Laketown, she would rather be overly prepared than ambushed by a dragon in the night.  
  
“Smaug will be here soon and we must be ready,” Kíli says again, his brother's fear and guilt like an itch beneath his skin. The prince cannot seem to settle, limping back and forth across the floor of Bard's house until Tauriel grabs his arm.  
  
“We cannot fight the wyrm on open water,” the captain says. “We do not have the weapons to pierce that monster's hide. Our best hope was an ambush and we lost that chance when your uncle woke the dragon. So we must warn the people of Laketown that Smaug is coming. We won't be able to focus on killing him until everyone is safe.”  
  
“There's no time, not if Smaug has already left the mountain,” Bofur tells her. “And I doubt the Master would believe us anyway. The man sent Thorin off in style, but he showed his true colors when we asked for help with Kíli's injury. He turned us away without a second's thought. Our best bet is to flee on our own as Bard instructed and pray that we somehow manage to outrun dragon fire. If we stay to argue, we will be burnt to ashes where we stand.”  
  
“Aye, he is right,” Óin agrees. “As much as I hate to say it, the men of Laketown will not listen to the likes of you and me.”  
  
“If da was here, he could make them listen,” Sigrid says. “He's well-respected even though the Master hates him and there are enough boats to get everyone to safety if we could get past the Master's guards. They block the causeway and most of the waterways at night in order to hurt the smugglers.”  
  
“You may be right, child, but your father has been imprisoned and we cannot pin our hopes on his captors releasing him in time,” Tauriel tells the young woman gently. “And we still have no weapon that might bring the dragon down.”  
  
“The wind-lance,” Kíli says with sudden inspiration, looking out the window at the Master's manor house. “We will use the wind-lance of King Girion.”  
  
“That’s what Bard thought, laddie. But we don't have the Black Arrow,” Óin replies with a frown. “Bard took the last one with him and I doubt the Master's guards would let us borrow it. Without the arrow, the wind-lance is no more than a pretty decoration and just as useless in a fight.”  
  
“But I can get the arrow!” Bain shouts, pushing his way to the center of the conversation. “I hid the arrow when the Master's guards came to arrest my father and I can show you where.”  
  
“Then we shall follow you, young Bain, and pray that no one has disturbed your hiding place,” Tauriel says, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. “This is our best hope to save your city and your courage does your family proud.”  
  
With their course of action decided, the group grabs their packs and splits in two. Tauriel and Kíli follow Bain onto the streets of Laketown while Óin and Bofur join Bard's daughters in the family barge. The dwarves will see Sigrid and Tilda safely to the shore via the route their brother mapped, their task to alert as many people as will listen on their way out of town. Even if the archer manages to kill Smaug with the wind-lance, the dragon will need to be in range and who knows how much damage he will do before he falls? Better for the people of Laketown to evacuate needlessly than to burn with their city if this battle does not go Kíli's way.  
  
Indeed, the prince knows that his odds are slim even with the wind-lance and he probably won't live to see the dawn. But he cannot run away and abandon Laketown to the fire; even if he had the heart to let them die, Kíli still needs to prove himself.  
  
The dwarf's injury forced him to miss the fight within the mountain and the fact that Smaug still lives makes him doubt that Fíli earned the sort of glory that would let them change the law. Which means it’s up to Kíli to secure their future, theirs and that of all khazâd who can’t acknowledge their karrash. For everyone whose ashânumahâl only brings them agony, the prince will do his best to win the day.  
  
Kíli isn't certain of Tauriel's motivation. Although he likes the elfine well enough – and is deeply grateful for his life – the archer doesn't actually know that much about her. He doesn't even know why she chose to save him or what she's doing here. But Tauriel seems sincere about wanting to help him slay the dragon and as long as the elfine stands against Smaug bravely, Kíli doesn't need to know her reasoning.  
  
All the archer needs is her sharp eyes to aim the wind-lance since his own vision hasn't quite recovered from the poison in his blood. Kíli had been close to death, closer than he would like to ever be again, and if not for the strength of his amrâbulnâs, he probably wouldn’t have lasted long enough to be healed by Tauriel.  
  
 _And for them, I will survive this,_ Kíli promises as he follows Bain on a twisting path through Laketown. The boy takes frequent detours to avoid the Master's guards since they cannot afford the delay of a confrontation now.  
  
Thankfully the Valar grant them luck and the trio reaches their goal without an incident. Kíli and Tauriel wait on the dock while Bain climbs into a small boat near a tall wooden statue of the Master to retrieve their prize. The dwarf watches the boy nervously as he searches through piles of nets and baskets, worried that someone else might have taken the Black Arrow without knowing what it was. But only a few moments pass before Bain lets out a triumphant cry and holds up the arrow, passing it over to Kíli before returning to the dock.  
  
“The Black Arrow,” Tauriel murmurs with something close to awe as the prince checks the projectile over for any cracks or flaws. But the craftsmanship of his forefathers had no equal in its time and the archer knows this missile will fly as true now as on the day that it was forged.  
  
“Now the wind-lance. Will you guide our steps once more?” Kíli asks Bain, offering the lad a chance to leave. The boy has done more than enough by giving them the arrow and the prince would not think less of Bain if he chose to sit this battle out.  
  
However, the lad just squares his shoulders and says, “Follow me.”  
  
Bain guides Kíli and Tauriel back toward the Master's house. Although the pair could have found their way alone, the journey goes much faster with his help. The boy knows the hidden pathways through the streets of Laketown, cutting across boats and under houses to shave minutes from their trip. Indeed, the Master's manor has just come into view when the town's alarm bell finally starts ringing and the trio looks up to see Smaug's dark silhouette against the starry sky.  
  
“You were right,” Tauriel says with a fair bit of surprise as the dragon flies overhead. However, before Kíli can ask the elfine why she came with him if she thought that he was crazy, Bain interrupts his train of thought.  
  
“Da!” the boy shouts and the archer follows his gaze to a bridge-like structure over the next canal. A barred window stands halfway through the span and through the bars, Kíli can see Bard. The man hasn’t noticed them yet, but he’s shouting and struggling to escape.  
  
“Go to him,” Kíli orders, laying a hand on Bain's shoulder. “Free your father and then flee this place as quickly as you can.”  
  
“Are you sure?” the boy asks, holding to his word even though he is clearly desperate to run to his father's side.  
  
“Yes, go,” the prince tells him. “We can travel the rest of the way on our own. Free Bard and if he is as respected as Sigrid said, help him organize your people before Smaug attacks. Open the gates and get everyone to safety if you can.”  
  
With Kíli's permission, Bain takes off like an arrow. The archer watches him dash toward Bard's prison for a moment – _hopefully the guards have all run off_ – before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Thankfully, Smaug is taking his time about attacking, circling Laketown on crimson wings as his laughter echoes down.  
  
Indeed, the dragon is enjoying the anticipation of a slaughter, reveling in the scent of fear that rises from the streets. He does not want to cut his pleasure short, not when it has been a long time since he tasted terror so sweet.  
  
Kíli and Tauriel make good use of those extra seconds, sprinting to the Master's mansion while the great wyrm circles round again. When the door proves to be locked, the pair decides to climb, the elfine scaling the side of the building easily. She leaps to the lower balcony and then leans back down for the Black Arrow so that the dwarf can climb as well. Kíli isn't quite as fast about it, but with both hands free, the archer manages.  
  
From the balcony, it's a matter of seconds to race up the stairs to the wind-lance and Kíli steps onto the platform just as Smaug folds his wings and dives. The dragon breathes a line of fire through the heart of Laketown, the wind from his passage strong enough to make those watching stagger back. Even Kíli finds himself paralyzed with terror and only when Smaug rises again does he manage to shake himself free, moving to stand by the wind-lance that must save them now.  
  
“Will it work?” Tauriel asks as the prince runs his hands across the weapon, checking that everything is still in good order after being neglected through the years. But time has barely touched the wind-lance and the few bits of rust that Kíli finds will not stop the mechanism from working properly.  
  
“She'll strike true,” the archer promises his companion as he loads the Black Arrow. “Can you draw Smaug's attention? Bain told us that Girion knocked a scale loose from the dragon's breast but even if that's true, our target will be small and I only have one shot. I need Smaug much closer if we are to have a chance.”  
  
If Tauriel had been a dwarf, Kíli might have asked her to aim the wind-lance since he's still not completely recovered from his wound. As much as he needs to earn glory, the prince is rather fond of living too.  
  
But this mechanism requires a delicate touch and this is not the time to teach a novice how the wind-lance works. Kíli will simply have to trust in Mahal to guide his hand and indeed, Tauriel does not offer to take the archer's place.  
  
“I will draw the monster,” the elfine says instead, taking her bow down from her shoulder. “Be ready to fire quickly when you see your mark.”  
  
Tauriel shoots at Smaug when the dragon begins another pass over Laketown, her arrow striking right between the creature's eyes. Although the weapon bounces off his scales without doing any damage, it gets Smaug's attention and Kíli wipes sweaty hands on his trousers as that fiery gaze pins him in place. Tauriel looses several more arrows to quickly test Smaug's armor, but even the membranes of his wings turn her strikes aside. They will have one chance and one alone and the prince cannot afford to waste his arrow on anything but a true killing shot.  
  
“Get down!” the elfine shouts when Smaug dives towards the Master's house, tendrils of flame spilling from his jaws. He is upon them in an instant, his claws gouging huge furrows in the wood as he goes by, and his attack misses the wind-lance by the Valar's grace alone.  
  
Tauriel lets out a cry as the corner of the platform crumbles away beneath her feet, only a quick leap saving her from falling, and Kíli knows that they will not survive another rush. But when the dwarf spins the wind-lance around to face the dragon, Smaug is laughing. The wyrm is standing upon half a dozen burning houses and cackling, secure in his invulnerability.  
  
“An elf and a dwarf,” Smaug rumbles when his laughter finally fades. “Now this is something that I never thought to see. Did your king finally decide to stop cowering in Mirkwood as he has done since I first claimed the mountain? I do not believe so. I think you are without allies in this folly, your royal leader justifying his cowardice with the belief that his people are worth more than all the rest. I know elves, little archer; kill one and the survivors always shatter at the thought of eternity cut short.  
  
“Now, dwarves, on the other hand, dwarves are all too ready to die for what they love and their witless fury is the perfect seasoning. Shall I tell you how I ate your kinsfolk who snuck into Erebor? How their flesh bled and their bones crunched beneath my teeth?”  
  
“You lie!” Kíli shouts, unable to bear the dragon's taunts in silence.  
  
If the prince had not been able to feel his amrâbulnâs, he might have believed Smaug's story and even the thought makes his heart thump in his chest. As it is, his hands are shaking with a fear too instinctual to be mastered, and this must be how Durin felt when he dug too deep in Khazad-dûm. If Kíli has ever doubted that Smaug is evil, he does not doubt it now and Middle Earth will be well rid of a monster such as this.  
  
“Lie?! A dragon does not lie, _dwarf,_ ” the wyrm retorts, prowling closer to Kíli like a mountain hunting prey. “A dragon keeps his promises. For I have eaten your kin in the past and I shall eat them again once Laketown has fallen to my fire, those thieving rats in _my_ mountain will be brought down one by one.  
  
“You first and then your leader, Thorin Oakenshield. I will bruise and bloody your rightful king until he regrets the day that he ever dared to challenge me. For I am fire and the sword; I am Smaug the Terrible and I am death to all I see.  
  
“Although... you have shown courage here and perhaps I should reward such folly. Perhaps I shall save you for the last, keeping you alive until all that you love has been destroyed and you can only beg for death between your tears. You live on my sufferance; all living things within the shadow of the mountain survive because I have not chosen to destroy them and it is time for lesser creatures to remember why they fear.”  
  
Tauriel and Kíli trade horrified glances at Smaug's twisted imagery. However, while the prince would do anything to stop this creature, he has no target yet. His arrow is ready; his hands are as steady as they will ever be, but the only thing he sees upon the dragon's chest is a sea of crimson scales.  
  
The wyrm's armor is smooth and unbroken and to fire now would be to waste his arrow foolishly. Assuming that Smaug even has a weakness and if Bard was wrong then Kíli will curse the bargeman's name with his final breath.  
  
“Cower before my majesty and maybe I will spare you,” the drake roars as he rises to his full height. Smaug stretches toward the sky and the prince's eyes catch on a faint patch of grey upon the dragon's breast.  
  
“Tauriel?” Kíli whispers, not sure whether his eyes are playing tricks on him. “Do you see it?”  
  
The prince hears the elfine's answer in her quiet gasp and if her sharp eyes agree then Bard and Bain must have spoken truly after all. So Kíli takes careful aim as Smaug lets out a deafening bellow, the dragon cursing their disobedience and preparing one last charge.  
  
 _Easy now, this is no different from a thousand other targets that you practiced on with Fíli. You can hit an acorn on the wind, you can hit the dragon now,_ Kíli tells himself, forcing the tension from his shoulders when he turns the wind-lance a hair too far. _Just one more shot. One more before you can go find your brother and your hobbit once again._  
  
The archer fixes the image of his amrâbulnâs in his mind before taking a deep breath and letting the Black Arrow fly. The missile spirals through the air, striking Smaug in his chest just as the dragon leaps forward to swallow Kíli whole. The prince sees his own death coming in that instant but his aim was true. Smaug's roar of triumph turns into a scream of agony when his legs crumple underneath him, momentum carrying the wyrm headfirst into the Master's house.  
  
 _Shit!_ Kíli curses as the platform beneath his feet shudders dangerously. Neither the prince nor Tauriel have time to leap to safety before the Master's house collapses and they are falling helplessly.  
  
Kíli and the elfine plummet toward the lake even as Smaug leaps into the sky, the dragon's cries of pain and anger echoing like thunder in their ears. The wyrm is trying to flee back to the mountain but he does not get far with an arrow in his heart. Indeed, the last thing the prince sees before landing in a crash of wood and rubble is the dragon's death rattle, Smaug's giving one last gasp as his burning flame goes out.  
  
When the dust finally settles, Kíli discovers that he and Tauriel are trapped in some sort of cellar. The faint light shining through the wreckage reveals a fair amount of space and four rough walls, the floor damp but watertight enough to keep the pair from drowning before they can get out.  
  
Thankfully, the archer wasn't injured when he landed – dwarves are sturdy folk, built to withstand the worst deep mines can offer, and it takes more than a few flaming timbers and a long drop to damage them. However, Kíli isn't strong enough to lift the heavy beams that are blocking off the cellar and Tauriel appears to be unconscious; something must have hit her when they fell. He doesn't think that she has any other injuries but the prince won't risk upsetting the balance of the rubble while she's not awake to help.  
  
Instead, Kíli settles down to wait, keeping an eye on the captain's breathing just in case. Although the archer is impatient to return to his amrâbulnâs, he's not going to get himself killed by rushing stupidly. Kíli can afford a few hours now that Smaug has perished and he needs Tauriel's help to dig them out.  
  
So the prince passes the time by thinking about his brother and his hobbit. Fíli and Bilbo are waiting for him in the Lonely Mountain and while Kíli does wonder what Azsâlul'abad will look like, gold and gemstones have never been his dream. Indeed, the archer's dreams are rather more physical these days, fantasies of his amrâbulnâs tangled in bed together making his blood run as hot as the Maker's forge. He wants them as he has never wanted anyone and yet, it's the domestic fantasies that his thoughts focus on right now; Kíli has visions of fletching arrows by a roaring fire while Bilbo reads aloud from some thick treatise on diplomacy and Fíli argues every point the author makes.  
  
That's what the dwarf wants most from his future and now that he has slain the dragon, those dreams may actually come true. Surely killing Smaug will earn the prince his boon. Then he and Fíli will show Bilbo that he belongs with them instead of Thorin and the life that they've hoped for will finally begin.  
  
Kíli has waited long enough. The archer wants their happy ending and he's starting to wonder if he should risk digging after all when he hears voices up above. The prince shouts for help as loudly as he can and he's sorely relieved when he hears Bard answer back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because someone deserves to use that bloody wind-lance.


	12. Nu'sasekh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I should say this, but we're getting into some of my favorite chapters. Apparently I enjoy writing royal politics.

Bain did as the archer told him, freeing his father from the Master's prison while Kíli and Tauriel prepared to fight. Once free, the bargeman took control of Laketown's evacuation, turning the chaos of their retreat into something almost orderly, and when Smaug finally attacked, there were far fewer casualties than there would have been without Bard's guiding hand.

Now the bargeman stands on the shore with his children and the remainder of his kin. He watches with a heavy heart as the dragon burns his city, flames pouring from the great wyrm's mouth as he sweeps across the town. Everything the fire touches catches instantly and many of Bard’s people must turn away to hide their tears.

Their houses may not be fancy. Their buildings may not be grand or gilded and their lives are often hard. But Laketown is their home and most of them had thought to die in the same house where they were born. Yet now half of their city is on fire and Smaug shows no signs of stopping. Indeed, the Lakemen can hear the dragon laughing as he destroys everything they’ve worked for and they know that the monster will probably decide to finish off the survivors when he’s done.

But then the wyrm pauses. He lands upon the streets of Laketown, his great weight crushing what few buildings his fire had not burned. Smaug appears to be focused on the Master's house and when Bard squints, he can just see two small figures standing on the roof.

“Are they mad? What do they think they're doing?” the man wonders, not realizing that he's spoken aloud until Bain answers him.

“They mean to fight the dragon. The younger dwarf, Kíli, and the elf maid,” the bargeman's son explains.

“Elf maid?” Bard asks. “What elf maid?”

“Tauriel. She, uh, showed up after you were gone but she's really very nice. She healed Kíli's injury somehow so he's all right again. He's the one who warned us that Smaug was on his way,” Bain continues with a shrug. “I gave them your Black Arrow – I hope that's all right, I didn't know what else to do – and they mean to kill the beast.”

Bain does not speak quietly and his words ripple through the watching Lakemen. Soon everyone is focused on the standoff, those with better eyesight explaining what's happening to those who cannot see. 

Even Bard cannot look away, though he does not watch with hope of victory. Tauriel and Kíli may have the Black Arrow and the wind-lance, but Smaug still seems invincible. The man watches because such bravery deserves a witness and if he must tell Thorin Oakenshield that his nephew perished, at least he will be able to say that the dwarf died well.

So Bard watches Smaug lunge forward and his heart leaps in his throat as the dragon's scream of triumph turns to agony. The wyrm crashes headfirst into the Master's mansion in a cloud of smoke and fire and while it seems unlikely, Bard prays that Kíli and Tauriel somehow managed to jump free.

The pair's bravery may have cost them both their lives, but the bargeman swears that they will not be forgotten. The Lakemen will remember those who dared to stand against Smaug in the defense of their city; they will remember the dwarf and the elfine who succeeded where all other warriors fell.

Because Smaug's rampage is over. The wyrm's only thought is retreat when he rips himself free of the wreckage and leaps into the air. He climbs higher and higher, every wing beat a struggle as the Black Arrow twists inside his chest. These puny mortals hurt him. Somehow he who slaughtered armies has been defeated by one young dwarf with a wind-lance and Smaug's cries are filled as much with anger as with pain. This is not how a dragon should be conquered. This is not how he should die.

Those watching on the shore see the great wyrm falter, his voice raised in one last defiant scream. The Lakemen see the dragon's fire fade within his belly before Smaug the Golden plummets to the earth again.

The dragon's corpse lands in the center of Laketown, a massive wave of water spreading from the point of impact. His body disappears beneath the surface for a moment before it bobs back up again, his great weight kept afloat by the wreckage of a barge.

With the heart of the blaze extinguished, the few small fires that remain soon wink out one by one and the Lakemen trade cautiously hopeful glances when they realize that some of the outer quarters may still be intact. Although the central warehouses will have burned already, every family had its own small store of food and these supplies could mean the difference between survival and starvation now that their home is gone. 

Someone needs to organize a search party to see what can be salvaged and Bard is declared the town's new leader when no one else volunteers. The bargeman doesn't actually volunteer either, but the Master has gone missing and Bard is the only person that his kinsmen can agree on without arguing. He is respected, level-headed, still alive, and a good fighter – the latter most important if Alfrid and the Master's guards get ideas about starting their own coup.

Since Bard truly does care about his people, he cannot refuse this honor, no matter how much he hates the thought of such responsibility. The bargeman may have no idea what he's doing but common sense will guide him for the moment and he will do his utmost not to let his children down.

So Bard orders most of his kinsmen to scavenge through the wreckage on the lake shore and treat each other's injuries as best they can. Then he gathers a couple boats and leads a small group back to Laketown to see what can be saved. 

As long as they pool their resources, Bard hopes that his people will be able to survive the winter without too much charity. He will still need to ask for aid from Erebor, assuming that Thorin Oakenshield still lives to grant it, but the dwarf lord had promised plenty in exchange for the Master's help and the Lakemen should barely make a dent in the Lonely Mountain's stores.

Of course, if Bard must be a supplicant on Thorin's doorstep, the man would prefer to weigh negotiations in his favor and returning the dwarf lord's kin alive seems like a good place to start. Although two dwarves had been with his daughters, the healer and the one with the hat, Thorin's nephew has yet to reappear.

So the bargeman leaves his men to gather supplies while he takes Bain and rows over to the Master's mansion. The pair is forced to stop several times to clear debris out of their path and their hands are dark with soot by the time they reach their goal. Only one wall of the great manor is still standing – if you can truly call it standing when it is nearly horizontal – and Bard's hopes sink sharply at the sight.

However, the man will not give up that easily. Kíli and Tauriel risked their lives for Laketown even if Thorin Oakenshield is the one who woke the dragon and bringing their bodies home seems the least that he can do. So Bard tells Bain to stay in the boat before climbing out onto the floating wreckage that had been the town's main square. His son argues of course, but the bargeman will not risk losing one of his children and the footing is treacherous.

Bard scours the area, looking for any sign of the two who saved his people, but all he finds is pieces of the wind-lance scattered everywhere. Smaug managed what years of wind and sun could not, the last weapon of Lord Girion shattered in service of its cause.

The man is about to give up and rejoin the other Lakemen when he hears a voice. Bard pauses, wondering if his mind is playing tricks on him until he hears the voice again.

“Hey! Is someone there?!”

The words are coming from underneath the bargeman's feet and he stares at the ground in confusion until he remembers the watertight cellars underneath the Master’s house.

“Can you hear me? Are you okay?” Bard shouts, crouching low. He thinks that he can see a hint of movement roughly where the center of the Master's manor used to be, but he cannot be certain when there's so much rubble in the way.

“We're fine. Just dig us out!” the dwarf calls back, banging on the walls of the cellar to guide the bowman over.

“There you are. Give us a moment,” Bard tells him before waving his son over. With their help, Kíli manages to shift the largest of the beams that were keeping him trapped, creating a space large enough for the archer to crawl out.

However, first the prince helps Tauriel to her feet; the elfine has finally started to come around but she's still too woozy to stand up on her own. Still, Kíli is grateful that he doesn't have to lift her since their height difference would make that rather difficult. 

“Here, take her first,” he says, supporting Tauriel until Bard grabs her hand and pulls her out. Once they're out of the way, the archer scrambles out of the cellar, accepting Bain's help to make the last few feet. 

Then Kíli stands and stretches with a great sigh of relief; dwarves may live underground for the most part, but the archer has never enjoyed being cramped. He raises one hand to block the glare of the morning sun and looks around, wincing a bit at the wreckage that he sees. But there are still houses standing in the distance and Kíli has to grin a little proudly when he spies Smaug's body lying some yards away.

“Damn, he is big, isn't he?” the archer mutters, somewhat amazed that he managed to bring down such a beast. “I only wish I could have killed Smaug before he did such damage to your town.”

“You saved our lives, Master Kíli,” Bard replies with a shake of his head. “And we will always be grateful. As long as we still live then we can rebuild what was broken and what Thorin promised us should be more than enough to make our futures bright. I just pray that your companions survived Smaug's wrath as well.”

“They did,” the dwarf prince replies with certainty. All he's feeling from his amrâbulnâs is relief – they must have seen the dragon fall – and while he's too far from Fíli to sense as much as usual, Kíli would surely feel his brother's grief if their kin had died. “Although, speaking of your future, you should secure Smaug's corpse before it sinks.”

“We should? Why?” the bargeman asks. “The Long Lake is large enough that he shouldn't contaminate the fishing and I doubt my kin will want that memory.”

“Maybe not, but I'm sure they'd appreciate the gold his bones might bring,” Kíli tells him. He's a little surprised that Bard doesn't already know this, but then again, it has been a long time since someone slew a dragon in these parts. “The scales of a great wyrm are worth a fortune in most dwarven kingdoms and I am sure uncle would pay good coin for Smaug's teeth and claws if you do not wish to keep them for the weapons they can yield. Besides, while I do not know whether men can eat the flesh of dragons, my people can, and it would be a shame to waste the meat.”

“You make good points, Master Dwarf. However, if Smaug's body is so prized, should you be telling me? I would not start a war with Erebor over the dragon's corpse.”

“I killed Smaug; by dwarvish law that makes his remains mine to dispose of and I am gifting it to you. Tauriel here can be my witness should my uncle start a fuss,” Kíli tells Bard with a shrug. While it's true that Thorin might be angry, the treasure in the Lonely Mountain should be enough to soothe him and Kíli cannot leave these people to their fate without doing what he can to help. Not when the princes' quest for their amrâbulnas brought Smaug to Laketown's door.

“However, if you are truly worried about starting a war,” the dwarf continues, grasping at dim memories of his uncle's diplomatic lessons. “Give one of Smaug's legs to the King Under the Mountain and one to the King of Mirkwood to bind your lands in friendship. They will not be able to accept such a gift and then attack you; no one would ever trust their word again.”

“He is right,” Tauriel says when Kíli finishes, the elfine looking much more alert than she had before. “That would be a kingly gift indeed and my lord Thranduil would be honor bound to return such friendship in kind.”

“Then I will do as you advise,” Bard replies as he waves the archers toward his boat. “We should go before Smaug's body sinks any further.”

Kíli and Tauriel climb into the Lakeman's boat and hold on as Bard and Bain steer them over to the dragon. Smaug's corpse looks even larger up close, his crumpled wings towering over Kíli and his head much larger than their vessel. The wyrm's scales are dull now that the Black Arrow snuffed his fire but his teeth and claws still shine brightly in the morning light.

Underneath the dragon, Kíli can see the remnants of a barge – likely the only thing that has kept Smaug's corpse from sinking – and when he points out the gilded rails to Bard, the man barks out a laugh.

“It seems the Master of Laketown will not be returning. You have done my people a twofold service by slaying Smaug right here,” Bard tells the archer before looping a rope around the dragon’s trailing claw. “And speaking of service, are you truly certain that you wish to give the creature’s body up? The prize was yours to start with and Laketown pays its debts.”

“I have no way to bring it to the mountain,” Kíli replies. “And I think my uncle's kingdom needs goodwill far more than it needs another treasure. However, if you do not mind, I would appreciate a token to prove the beast's demise.”

With Bard's permission, the prince climbs out of the boat and makes his way over to Smaug's head. He intends to take a set of teeth: one for himself, one for each of his amrâbulnâs, and one for his uncle, a royal gift for a reclaimed crown. The dragon's horns would be more impressive, but they are much too large for Kíli to carry so he just pulls his dagger from his belt and grabs the first tooth in his hand.

“A wyrm's skin softens once it dies,” the archer tells his companions conversationally as he starts to cut his bloody prizes from the dragon's flesh. “But you will still need to carve between Smaug's scales in order to butcher him. If you lift the scales, you should be able to fit a knife between them and as you can see, your weapons are sharp enough for this, particularly if you work from the inside out. Or you can wait until I speak with my uncle; I am sure there are blades within the mountain that can pierce Smaug's flesh more easily.”

“You seem to know a great deal about this task. Where did you learn such information?” Tauriel asks curiously. “I didn't think there were any dragons in the west.”

“There aren't. But my people have killed a number of the creatures in the past and my brother and I made a study of the tales those warriors told,” Kíli explains. “We always knew that our uncle was looking toward the mountain and we wanted to be ready when he called.”

The dwarf lets out a grunt when the final tooth comes loose in his hand. He's dulled his dagger on the dragon's jaw, but it served its purpose and he should be able to find a better weapon in Azsâlul'abad. 

So Kíli gives the knife a quick rinse in the lake before cutting a strip of cloth from his tunic and putting the blade away. The archer washes the blood from Smaug's fangs and then wraps them in the cloth, tying this bundle into a sling that he throws across his back. It is heavy but not as overwhelming as the dragon's horns would be.

“All right. I am ready,” Kíli says as he climbs back on board.

By now Bard has finished securing Smaug's body to the surrounding wreckage so that it cannot sink and the four of them meet up with the rest of the Lakemen before rowing back to the shore. The trip is slow since their boats are heavily laden with survivors and supplies pulled from the wreckage and by the time his barge touches land, Kíli is vibrating with eagerness.

He can see Óin and Bofur waiting on the bank and their faces light with smiles when he calls their names. The dwarf leaps ashore as soon as possible, his boots soaked through with water almost instantly. But he ignores the discomfort as the three dwarves run to each other, their reunion filled with hugging, laughing, and a great deal of relief.

“Oh, thank the lord, Thorin would have killed us if we'd lost you,” Óin says, patting the archer on the back. “Our people will be telling stories about your courage for centuries.”

_Mahal, but I hope so,_ Kíli thinks. If Bofur and Óin think him a hero for his actions, then Thorin might feel the same; hopefully the prince’s uncle will offer him a boon immediately. Hopefully he and Fíli will be able to change the law for good.

That is all the dwarf desires but before he can disappear into thoughts of the future, Bofur nudges his shoulder and he looks up to see an enormous crowd of Lakemen watching them.

“Um, hello?” the prince says awkwardly, wondering if they'll be forced to fight a horde of angry fisherman after all. Bard hadn't seemed inclined to hurt them even before Kíli gave him the dragon's body, but the bowman might not be able to stop a mob if his people disagree.

However, instead of attacking, one man steps forward and shouts, “That dwarf killed the dragon. I saw him. He brought Smaug down before the wyrm could burn us all.”

At this, the whole crowd bursts into cheers, men and women rushing forward to pat Kíli on the shoulder and thank him personally. To be honest, Kíli isn't sure what to do with all this admiration; while he's glad to know that most of the Lakemen seem to have survived, he hadn't stayed for them and saying otherwise would be a lie.

However, when an expectant hush falls over the crowd, the prince knows that he must say something. Fíli has always been better at speaking to an audience but his brother isn't here to take the slack.

So Kíli simply smiles as warmly as he can and says, “I am just glad that I could help. Smaug has been a curse upon these lands for far too long and now that he is gone, I hope that we can all build better lives. Dwarves, men, and elves alike. Indeed, I could not have made that shot without the Black Arrow that Bard gave me and Tauriel of Mirkwood's keen eyesight.”

As much as the dwarf needs glory for his mission, it doesn't seem right to ignore the fact that he had help in killing Smaug. However, the Lakemen don't seem to notice that portion of his speech as the crowd breaks into cheers again.

“Dragonslayer! Dragonslayer!” they shout until Bard finally makes his people settle down. The bowman orders the Lakemen back to work, ending the celebration in favor of food, shelter and other practicalities. He tells everyone that they will sleep in Dale tonight so that he can speak with the King Under the Mountain before returning to rebuild their lives again.

The dwarves take this as their cue to leave and Kíli waves off Bard's offer of shelter for the evening as soon as it is made. He has been apart from his amrâbulnâs for too long and he needs to leave _right now._

“You must look to your own, son of Girion,” Óin explains when Kíli can't find the words. “Your people will need a strong leader in the coming days and we must return to our company; they will want to know that we still live. However, there will be time enough for food and friendship when our work is done and we thank you once again for your hospitality.”

The dwarves bow in farewell and Bard returns the gesture. He can understand the dwarves' desire to return to their companions and make sure their kin are well. So the bargeman offers them a boat with which to reach the lake's far shore, Óin and Bofur pushing it toward the water while Kíli says farewell to Tauriel.

“Thank you again, for everything,” the archer tells her. “I would not be standing here if you had not saved my life.”

“You are welcome,” the elfine replies. “Though no true healer could have left you there to die.”

“Well, I hope your king will see it that way. I know he does not like my uncle and he probably would have celebrated at the news that one of Thorin's sister-sons had perished,” Kíli says with a crooked grin. “If you need someone to talk up your courage around Thranduil, just let me know, although you might have better results if you let the Lakemen do it. I doubt the elf king would believe a word I said.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Tauriel tells the dwarf as she chuckles quietly. He truly is a strange one but she's glad she saved him; no soul that glows so brightly should die before its time.

“You do that. I figure I owe you one. Maybe two for your help with the dragon,” Kíli pauses, looking at something over the elfine's shoulder. Tauriel follows his glance and then spins around with a wide smile when she sees Legolas.

_“Meleth nin, you found me,”_ the elfine says in greeting. Her prince looks no worse for wear after their separation; indeed, he picked up a horse somewhere during the night, though the reins are dangling from slack fingers now.

_“Tauriel, you're all right,”_ Legolas whispers, the relief in his voice clearly audible. He takes a few steps forward and then wraps his arms around her tightly, hugging the elfine despite their audience. _“I feared the worst when I saw Laketown burning; I never would have forgiven myself if I'd left you there to die.”_

_“But I am fine,”_ Tauriel reassures him. _“I stood with Kíli there against the dragon and now the beast is dead. My eyes and his Black Arrow pierced the monster in his heart.”_

_“You let him shoot the dragon?”_ her prince asks, eyeing Kíli skeptically.

_“Of course, melui nin. I have never used a wind-lance and that did not seem the time for pride,”_ the elfine chides him gently. _“I am content to know I helped. And what of your task? Did you find Bolg?”_

_“He got away,”_ Legolas replies, his expression darkening. _“I fought him but he ran. He met up with a warg pack waiting on the edge of the lake and I could not keep up. The pack bore a symbol that I have not seen for many years: the mark of Gundabad.”_

_“Gundabad?!”_

_“Yes. My father believes that fortress still abandoned but now I fear otherwise. I must travel north,”_ the elf prince says. _"If the kingdom of Angmar has risen from the ashes then there is no time to waste. Will you come with me?”_

_“Of course,”_ Tauriel answers before turning back to Kíli. “It seems we both must go. I wish you luck in all your travels.”

“And to you as well,” the dwarf replies. He moves to the lake, joining Óin and Bofur on board their borrowed craft while Legolas and Tauriel mount the prince's horse. Kíli gives the elfine one last wave as the pair rides off and then he puts his mind to paddling. The quicker this boat moves, the sooner he will see his amrâbulnâs again.

Yet even Kíli must stop and gape once the trio reaches the other side of the lake and hikes the long road up to the Lonely Mountain, the prince staring at the entrance to Azsâlul'abad in awe. He has only heard stories of those high reaches and the fabled gates that guard his great-grandfather's kingdom, the gates now standing open once again. There is an air of history and majesty about the Lonely Mountain that is undeniable and it strikes all three dwarves when they walk inside. This is a homecoming even though Óin is the only one who has seen these halls before.

However, the silence is soon broken by a gleeful shout as Fíli runs up the stairs to greet his amrâbulnas. The princes slam into a hug, clutching each other tightly in relief at finally being reunited, and when Bilbo walks up a few moments later, Kíli pulls him into their huddle without a second thought. He can't help it, not when he nearly died without the chance to hold his burglar. But Bilbo doesn't stop him; the hobbit just slots in next to Fíli with a relieved sigh of his own.

“Amrâbulnâs,” Bofur whispers in shock as he stares at the trio. “In Laketown, Kíli said that his amrâbulnâs were in the mountain. Plural, not just one.”

“Leave them be,” Óin murmurs in response, laying a hand on the miner's shoulder before he can say anymore. The healer has seen many forms of love in his long lifetime and he wants to give these lads a moment of peace before the world intrudes again.

Indeed, Bilbo pulls away only a few moments later, his face flushing scarlet when he realizes what he'd done. Hadn't he just decided to keep his distance from the princes? The hobbit couldn't be near them until he discovered what had caused that strange feeling when Fíli touched his hand. But then again, Bilbo has not felt that connection again and is it good to see the brothers reunited. The world had not seemed quite right ever since the pair was separated and the archer looks much better now than he had before.

So Bilbo refuses to feel guilty about taking comfort in their presence. Indeed, he has just come from speaking with Thorin and after that conversation, the hobbit sorely needs comforting.

The burglar wants to believe that his beloved's sudden burst of violence in the treasure hall was caused by fear and worry, these emotions understandable since Smaug had been nearby. But Thorin has only gotten worse since then and Bilbo cannot understand it; shouldn't the dwarf lord be happier now that Erebor is his? Shouldn't the coldness that began in Laketown now turn to warmth again? 

Yet the hobbit barely recognizes the person that he fell in love with in the dwarf that stands before him; Thorin is actually worse than he was when their trip started and that should be impossible.

Where the dwarf lord had simply scorned the hobbit at first, now he alternates between ignoring his existence and watching him far too closely, a terrible possession burning in his eyes. While Thorin had grown softer since acknowledging the burglar, always taking a moment to remind Bilbo that he was appreciated, now he is as hard as stone again.

The dwarf is obsessed with finding the Arkenstone and will speak of nothing else, even when he and the hobbit are alone. Truthfully, Thorin speaks of the gem much as he used to speak to Bilbo, his language that of a lover yearning to be one.

The hobbit never thought that he would be jealous of a gemstone, but he's feeling rather jealous now. Jealous and worried because Thorin's obsession with the Arkenstone too closely mirrors the warning Smaug gave Bilbo when he first woke within the mountain. Smaug had laughed as he spoke of the gemstone, saying that it would breed corruption, greed, and hate within the dwarf lord's heart. The dragon said that Thorin did not care about the hobbit, that he did not value Bilbo's life, and while the burglar does not wish to believe it, he has seen fixation grow behind the dwarf lord's eyes.

Although Bilbo has forgiven Thorin for threatening him once, his beloved driven to unkindness by despair and desperation, he doesn't know what he will do if the dwarf lord does not change.

He wants to see the old spark in his beloved's eyes but Thorin barely seems to notice when his company is reunited. The dwarf lord greets his younger sister-son with an absent wave even as the rest of his companions gather around their missing kin excitedly. He doesn't appear to care that Kíli has cheated death twice over, once for the dragon and once for his injury.

Instead, it is Dwalin who asks the question on his companions' minds. “How did you survive? We saw Smaug attack Laketown and feared the worst. Who struck the dragon down? And how did you escape with your wound? I did not think to see you looking so hearty now.”

“There was an elfine,” Kíli admits sheepishly. “She healed me, though I still do not know why. As for the dragon...”

The archer trails off, looking at Bofur and Óin to see if one of them will step in to tell the tale. Kíli will do it if he has to, but it would be a bit improper and Thorin looks unhappy enough to worry him. If his uncle is not in a generous mood, boasting of his own triumphs could ruin the prince's chance of winning his needed boon. 

So Kíli is thankful when Bofur steps forward, the other dwarf taking up the story before the pause can last too long.

“Kíli slew Smaug with a Black Arrow that Bard kept hidden in his rafters,” the miner says, clapping the archer on the shoulder with a wide grin. “Our prince climbed the Master's manor and set this arrow to the wind-lance of Lord Girion, standing his ground against Smaug's fire and fury until he had a clear shot. There was only one arrow and thus one chance to save us, but his hands were steady and his aim was true. The Black Arrow pierced the fire drake deep in his breast as he charged Kíli's position and when the dust had settled, our foe breathed no more.”

There is a moment of silence when Bofur finishes, most of Thorin's company staring at Kíli with no small bit of shock. Although the other dwarves have always known that the archer and his brother are fine warriors, they still tend to see the princes more as dwarrowlings than peers. After all, Kíli isn't even of age yet and if Fíli had not been his amrâbulnas, Dís would likely have kept him safe at home.

Yet despite his youth, their prince has killed the dragon, the creature that the company's best efforts had barely damaged, and his deed will be remembered in the halls of their kindred until the last days of Mahal's song.

“Truly, my sister-son?” Thorin asks, Bofur's recitation having pierced his gilded fog. “The beast is dead and by your hand?”

“Yes, uncle. Though I could not have done it without the weapon of our forefathers and Mahal's grace to guide my shot,” Kíli replies before reaching into the sling upon his back and pulling out one of the dragon's teeth. “Please take this as a token of my battle, a piece of our enemy to guard these fabled halls.”

“A fine gift, Kíli. A fine gift indeed,” his uncle says, holding the tooth up to the light. “We shall have to return to Laketown as soon as possible to retrieve the dragon's corpse.”

The prince winces at the possessiveness in Thorin's voice, realizing that he might have been mistaken when he assumed that his uncle would understand his gift to Laketown. But Kíli could hardly have labeled Smaug's body the property of Thorin Oakenshield and hopefully Bard will offer Thorin one of the wyrm's legs as the archer had suggested. The dwarf lord would have to see reason then and the prince quickly decides that he's not going to mention what he did until he has to. Indeed, Kíli is glad he held his tongue when Thorin speaks again. 

“You have done this kingdom a great service and brought honor to your blood,” the dwarf lord tells him proudly. “When the Arkenstone has been found and I am the true King beneath the Mountain, you shall be rewarded as your bravery deserves. Anything that is in my power to grant, just ask and it is yours.”

“Thank you, uncle,” Kíli replies with a deep bow, elation sweeping through him at Thorin's promised gift. This is why he and Fíli left the Blue Mountains, to earn the boon that will allow them to court their hobbit as Mahal had intended when he gave them their karrash.

So the archer stashes the remainder of Smaug's teeth in an alcove near the entrance and then throws himself into the search for the Arkenstone. Fíli and many of their allies join Kíli's hunt with fervor almost equal to Thorin's, their hearts thrumming with anticipation now that the dreams of a lifetime are almost close enough to touch. Yet their efforts are in vain because the Arkenstone remains hidden and only Bilbo knows that Thorin and his companions are looking in the wrong place.

The burglar had found the Arkenstone before Smaug chased him from the mountain and while he did not manage to grab it during his flight, he remembers exactly where he saw the gemstone last. The Arkenstone is on the other side of Erebor's massive treasure chamber from where his companions have been searching and the hobbit is certain that he could find it within an hour easily.

However, Bilbo isn't sure whether he _should_ recover the Arkenstone even though Thorin's desperation makes his heart ache painfully. But the dwarf lord's obsession only seems to be growing stronger with every hour that slips by.

Indeed, Thorin cannot even be bothered to care about such things as sustenance and it is Dori and Bombur who realize that the food they brought won't last. The dwarf lord's companions are the ones who search out the mountain's storerooms, discovering to their delight that Smaug left the majority of Azsâlul'abad's vast stores untouched. They bring this news back to their friends with much rejoicing even as their leader continues to mutter about the Arkenstone. 

After one of Thorin's more paranoid rants, Bilbo seeks out Balin to ask for his advice. He finds the old dwarf fighting back tears in the library and the hobbit's worst fears are confirmed when Balin tells him that the Arkenstone is better lost for good.

“The stone crowns all; it is the symbol of the king’s power and our people’s fealty, and I fear that Thorin will only grow worse if we find it,” the old dwarf says quietly. “You have seen the way he looks upon the mountain, the way he looks upon you, and that is not the king I swore to follow. That is not a leader who will bring us peace.”

There is truth in Balin's words but his advice is difficult for the burglar to follow when his companions' desperation seems to fill the air around him and their smiles grow more strained with every hour that slips by. The hobbit just wants everything to return to the way it was. Bilbo wants Thorin to kiss him like he’s the dwarf lord’s greatest treasure and he wants Fíli and Kíli to smile like they used to at the start.

Honestly, Bilbo just wants everyone to be happy but Erebor seems to have nothing but sorrow in her halls. So eventually the burglar slips away from the others, finding an out-of-the-way alcove and sitting down with a sigh.

He is a hobbit. The worries of kings and lords are as far beyond him as Thorin Oakenshield is beyond a farmer's son. Perhaps it would be better if Bilbo simply returned to the Shire and the green hills where he belongs. As much as he loves Thorin, love cannot solve everything.

A couple must share respect and communication, laughter and compromises, and these have been lacking in his relationship with Thorin for longer than Bilbo wishes to admit. Love, real love, takes work and the hobbit cannot deny a twinge of jealousy at the thought of being chosen by the Valar as Fíli and Kíli are. It must be so much easier to meet someone and know instantly whether you are meant to be together and yet Bilbo does not think he could have trusted that.

Love must be built on more than magic runes and the hobbit had been so sure that he had found love with Thorin Oakenshield. But perhaps the burglar was only dreaming and now it's time to wake.

So Bilbo pulls Beorn's acorn from his pocket, the keepsake that he picked up in the skin-changer's garden, and he tries to tell himself that he would be happy returning to Bag End by himself. He doesn't need anyone else; he survived on his own for years before Thorin and his company turned his life upside-down and anyways, his armchair must be missing him by now.

“What is that in your hand?! Show me!”

The sudden command startles Bilbo. He jumps and nearly drops the acorn, his fingers curling around his prize as he turns to see one furious dwarf lord glaring down at him.

“It's just an acorn, Thorin,” the hobbit says softly before opening his hand. As irritated as the implied accusation makes him, he's learned that answering Thorin's aggression in kind only makes his beloved more irrational. “I picked it up in Beorn's garden before we left his house.”

“That is a poor prize for the great distance that we've traveled. I have far greater treasures to offer you now that the throne is mine,” Thorin replies scornfully and it is all Bilbo can do to stop himself from chucking his acorn right at the dwarf lord's head. But the seed is not to blame for his frustration and he does not wish to damage it.

“Well, I _had_ hoped to plant this acorn near the gates of Erebor as a symbol of our future and a memory of the journey that led us to this place. But it seems that I will more likely be planting it back in Hobbiton instead.”

The bitter defeat in Bilbo's voice slams into Thorin like a hammer and he reels back a step. To hear their future discussed and then dismissed in the same moment is a painful wakeup call and for the first time in days, the dwarf looks at his burglar without shadows in his eyes.

“Bilbo, you wish to leave?” Thorin asks, reaching out to take the hobbit's hand. In this, at least, Bilbo does not deny him, his beloved clutching his fingers as he retorts angrily.

“No, I _don't_ want to leave you. But I will not stay if that means playing second fiddle to a pile of gold coins and the bloody Arkenstone. I love you, Thorin Oakenshield, I truly do and Valar help me for my foolishness. But even though I love you, I cannot live with the stranger who stands before me now.”

Thorin does not truly understand the hobbit's anger for surely he hasn't changed that much since taking back his kingdom? He is only trying to protect his home so that his people will be happy and for that he must have the Arkenstone. The dwarf lord must be crowned King Under the Mountain so that no one can ever question his place within the world. Azsâlul'abad is his birthright and he will rule his kingdom well, mining her wealth and riches until every storeroom gleams with gold and jewels again. He wishes to rule the Lonely Mountain with Bilbo at his side while his sister-sons win glory for their family's name.

However, before the dwarf lord finds the words to overcome his hobbit's doubts, Dwalin interrupts them with more pressing news.

“There are men streaming into Dale, hundreds of them,” the warrior explains in a rush and at these words, Thorin knows exactly what he has to do.

“We will finish this conversation later,” the dwarf lord tells Bilbo before ordering Dwalin to summon the rest of his company to the mountain's entrance. He will not have Laketown claiming reparations when it was Kíli who slew the dragon and Azsâlul'abad will negotiate more strongly without a Smaug-shaped hole in the gates.

Indeed, Thorin doesn't spare his burglar another thought as he marches off, Bilbo's frown bouncing unnoticed off his back. When he reaches the main entrance hall, the other dwarves are waiting there for his command and he tells them to gather stone to block the gate again.

“I want our walls secure by sunup. I will not have the Lakemen seeing weakness here.”

“I do not think they have come to fight, uncle,” Kíli protests. “Bard said that he wants no more than what you promised so that his people can rebuild.”

“Then you are a fool,” Thorin snarls, silencing the archer with a glare. “I know well what is owed between us and I will not see one piece of dwarvish gold given to those who demanded payment before offering their aid. This treasure is our birthright and the Lakemen have no claim.”

Kíli wants to argue further but the memory of his impulsive gift to Laketown stops him; he cannot afford to have his uncle angry with him when that truth comes out. His generosity hadn't seemed a large thing back in the human city but now he has to wonder if he's ruined everything.

So the prince swallows his objections and does as Thorin has commanded, gathering stone into a wheelbarrow and pushing it to the gates. When Bilbo joins them a little while later, he offers to help Kíli and the dwarf welcomes him gladly even as he worries about whatever put that look on their hobbit's face. Something is troubling his amrâbulnas and Kíli would bet that it is Thorin. Fíli told him about what their uncle did and if the princes didn't still need the dwarf lord's favor, the archer probably would have challenged him already. But they do need Thorin for at least a little longer and while his action's may improve the princes' chances with their burglar, Kíli cannot be glad of anything that hurts his hobbit now. 

The prince keeps an eye on Bilbo as the dwarves spend a long and sleepless night making their kingdom safe to Thorin's liking and it is almost dawn by the time the dwarf lord is finally satisfied. Indeed, he drives his kinfolk to distraction, his orders punctuated with wild rants on the untrustworthiness of former allies and the greed of men. 

Although Kíli does not challenge Thorin again, his uncle's suspicions worry him. Truthfully, both princes are sorely worried by Thorin's new paranoia, Fíli and Kíli trading concerned glances behind the dwarf lord's back. Finding the Arkenstone will not help their cause if Thorin is felled by madness before he can grant the archer's boon; though, in truth, even if the princes' future had not rested on their uncle's word, they would have worried anyway.

Thorin has always been a figure of strength for his sister-sons, the sort of warrior that Fíli and Kíli hoped to be. The dwarf has been a teacher, a hero, and sometimes a father and it hurts to see him changed.

Where the princes' uncle used to find time for his sister-sons no matter what was happening, now he barely seems to listen when they speak. Thorin used to scold Fíli and Kíli for their pranks and recklessness and now he is scolding them for their kindnesses instead. Indeed, Fíli has never heard Thorin speak as harshly to his brother as he just did tonight and the dwarf lord's anger seems to burn much hotter toward the Lakemen than it should.

Fíli has seen the gold within the Lonely Mountain; the Sigin-tarâg could rebuild Dale six times over and still have wealth to spare and while it is not the dwarves' fault that Smaug chose to attack Laketown, the men still need their help. 

The prince can’t understand how Thorin can think of turning Bard away when he knows what it is to fear for the survival of his people. He has seen hardship and lived the pain of helplessness as doors slammed shut in his face. If the sons of Durin are going to make their homeland prosper once again then they cannot do the same to Laketown; they must make allies of the men and elves with whom they share these lands. 

Even Kíli knows that bringing up old grudges won't help anything and he tended to sleep through their lessons on diplomacy. This is a time for generosity, not stinginess, and a few chests of gems or the corpse of a dragon seem like a small price for lasting peace even if the archer should have thought his gift through a little more.

But when Bard rides up to the gates of Azsâlul'abad just after dawn, Thorin's expression isn't welcoming. Admittedly, the sudden appearance of an army of elves on the walls of Dale is worrying, but Thranduil hasn't actually threatened anyone. Perhaps the elf king simply wished to offer aid to the Lakemen and brought his warriors for protection in these dangerous times. Fíli is sure Thranduil and Bard will have a perfectly logical explanation for their actions if Thorin agrees to give his fellow kings a chance.

Surely his uncle will have to listen when the dwarves are so outnumbered and yet the prince has a sick feeling in his stomach when his companions follow Thorin to the ramparts to address their visitor.

“Greetings, Thorin, son of Thráin,” Bard shouts up to the dwarf lord, pulling his horse to a halt once he's in range. “I am pleased to see you well.”

“I wish that I could say the same,” Thorin replies, the open hostility in his words making his sister-sons wince. “What brings you to my mountain, bargeman? I expected the Master of Laketown with hand outstretched in greed, not his unruly dog finally brought to heel.”

“The Master of Laketown is no more,” the man replied levelly, refusing to rise to the dwarf lord's bait. “My people have turned to me to lead them as the last heir of Girion and I am here to claim only what was promised for our aid.”

“You expect me to believe such pretty words when an army of elves sits on my doorstep?” Thorin scoffs dismissively. “For that matter, where is Thranduil? I see an elven army but I do not see their leader at your side. Has he sent you to do his dirty work while he sits safe and comfortable within his forest, just as he did when Smaug attacked? If so, you have misjudged me. I will negotiate with no man under threat of violence; those days are dead and gone.”

“Thranduil came only to offer my people aid and I took his help with the same hand of friendship that I wish to offer you,” Bard calls back and Bilbo has to admit that he's impressed by the man's patience with Thorin's enmity. While the dwarf lord owes Laketown no more than he promised, that does not give him the right to treat Bard as a robber when the man has not demanded anything.

“I swear that I want nothing but peace between our kingdoms,” Bard continues when Thorin does not answer. “We must have the help you promised in order to survive the winter but I do not wish to steal your birthright. Laketown owes your nephew a great debt for bringing down the dragon and I would offer you one of Smaug's legs in gratitude. A gift to seal our friendship and future prosperity.”

“Smaug's corpse does not belong to you,” the dwarf lord roars back. “You claim to be no thief and then you offer me a treasure that is not yours to give. Kíli slew the dragon and this prize is his alone.”

“I meant no insult. Your nephew gifted Smaug's body to my people; he said that he wished to help rebuild the havoc that the wyrm wrecked upon our home. We would have died without his courage and we might have starved without his kindness; now I would share this wealth in turn.”

“That is a lie! My sister-son would never have given such a treasure to the likes of you. Kíli is a son of Durin and he knows where to place his loyalty.”

“Please, uncle. Stop!” the archer interrupts, unable to listen to Thorin's accusations any longer. “Bard isn't lying. I gave Smaug's body to the people of Laketown. I thought to seal a bond of friendship and I urge you to accept Bard's offer as you accepted my own token of the dragon's fall. Why can't we just be friends and allies once again?”

“You worthless idiot!” Thorin roars, his fist slamming into Kíli's cheek before the archer can react. The prince stumbles back against his brother, eyes wide with shock as much as pain. Although ruthless during training, his uncle has never raised a hand to him in anger and neither Fíli nor Kíli can believe that he has done so now. However, before the princes can express their outrage, Thorin rounds on Bard again.

“Leave this place and take your offers with you,” the dwarf lord snarls. “I will have no dealings with Laketown or with Mirkwood. Consider the dragon's body payment for the aid your Master granted; you will receive no more charity from me.”

“I do not want charity, Thorin,” Bard shouts back. “And I do not want to fight you. But for all its value, Smaug's corpse cannot feed my people the way it might feed yours and Thranduil does not have the resources to support Laketown on his own. Without the gold and stores that you hoard within that mountain, we will not survive the winter. So if you refuse to accept our friendship then we shall offer war instead; I respect you and your family greatly but I will not see my children starve. Your stubborn heart will make thieves and liars of us all.”

“You made your bed, _bargeman_. Now you and your kin will lie in it. I will die before I see one piece of dwarvish gold in your greedy grasping hands,” Thorin snarls. “Be gone, ere arrows fly!”

With this, the negotiations are over. The dwarf lord stands unmoved as Bard lets out a vicious curse, slamming his hand against the pommel of his saddle before spinning his horse around.

“I will give you one more day to rethink your folly, Thorin. Expect our army at the dawn,” the man shouts before kicking his horse sharply and trotting back to Dale. The dwarf lord watches Bard's retreat with a sneer, his face twisting in contempt as he turns to his kin.

“You hear that? The men of Laketown have given us a day to prepare for battle and we shall show them the depths of their mistake. Meet me in the armory; I will join you as soon as I send a message to my cousin Dáin. He shall bring an army to our aid and Thranduil of Mirkwood will learn to never underestimate the Sigin-tarâg again,” Thorin says. Then he walks down the stairs to the hall and his companions follow after. Even Fíli and Kíli, although the princes' eyes are murderous.

Bilbo wants to stop him. He wants to shout and scream or slap Thorin upside the head for being an idiot. But after seeing the dwarf lord punch his nephew, the hobbit knows there's little point. Indeed, he can no longer see even the barest glimpse of his beloved beneath Thorin's mask of hatred and if the Arkenstone has truly caused the dwarf lord's madness, Bilbo knows what he must do. 

They must be rid of the gem before Thorin is lost completely and surely the Arkenstone is less important than his sanity in his people's eyes? Surely he will not lose his crown if the gemstone can't be found?

So Bilbo Baggins becomes a true burglar for only the third time in his life: a stolen ring, some stolen keys, and now the Arkenstone. The gem does not take long to find once the hobbit begins searching; its shining light makes it rather obvious as soon as he comes close. Bilbo hides the stone deep in his tunic to block the glow from dwarven eyes and then goes to find the others; given Thorin's current mood he'll probably become suspicious if the burglar disappears for long.

Bilbo isn't sure where Erebor's armory is, but sound carries well within the mountain and he follows his companions' voices deep into the halls. He finds the dwarves inside a large chamber, one filled from top to bottom with weapons and armor of all kinds.

Thorin and his companions are preparing for war and the dwarf lord looks even more like a stranger now. For he's dressed head to toe in full plate mail, his armor all hard lines and grim ferocity. Yet he still softens slightly when he sees the hobbit, setting down the sword he's holding and meeting his burglar in the hall.

“Bilbo. There you are,” Thorin says with a faint smile. “I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost along the way.”

“No, love. No need to send a search party. I'm afraid that I just grew distracted,” the hobbit tells him. “Everywhere I turn in Erebor, there's something beautiful.”

The words are true, even though the Arkenstone is burning a hole in his pocket and he's a little surprised that Thorin doesn't notice his distraction. Then again, that would require more attention than the dwarf lord has been paying to him recently.

“Yes, well, I am glad you're here. You're going to need this,” Thorin says, holding out a shirt of finely wrought chainmail. “This armor is made of silver steel, the metal that my forefathers knew as mithril, and it will keep you safe. No blade on earth can pierce it.”

At the dwarf lord's urging, Bilbo removes his coat and shrugs on the armor, smoothing silver links down across his chest. The chainmail fits surprisingly well but the hobbit can't accept it, not when he's about to trade the Arkenstone for a chance to save their lives.

“I can't take this,” Bilbo tells the dwarf lord. “I'm a hobbit, not a warrior. I must look absurd.”

“You do not. I think you look quite stately,” Thorin replies, giving the hobbit a once over that warms him from head to toe. “And this armor is a gift. A token of our love. I'd hope to see you wear it proudly even if an army wasn't standing at our door.”

“Oh, love. I will. I promise,” Bilbo murmurs, his heart aching terribly. He wants to tell Thorin about the Arkenstone. He wants to give his lover the jewel and watch his eyes light up, all thoughts of war replaced with thoughts of peace instead. And Bilbo almost does. Because the dwarf seems to be himself again. He seems to be the person that the hobbit fell in love with and Bilbo slips his hands into his tunic to pull the King's Jewel out.

But before he can, Thorin leans closer and whispers, “They are all against me now.” 

The hobbit freezes in horror as the dwarf lord's paranoia is turned on his company. He doesn't know how Thorin can think that his nephews or the others would ever turn against him, but his beloved is far past reasoning. There is only avarice and suspicion, his need for gold dug deep into his mind, and when the hobbit leaves the armory, all his doubts are gone.

Bilbo cannot see any other options and while he knows the dwarf may hate him after this, it's not as though Thorin truly loves him now. He is ready to try anything to get his beloved back again.

So the burglar waits until the company has gone to bed and then sneaks out to the ramparts with a length of rope. The hobbit throws the rope over the edge of the gate and is about to climb down when he hears a noise. Bilbo turns to hide but before he can, Bofur comes striding up the stairs, stopping short when he sees the burglar standing there.

“Bilbo? You should be inside. Out of the wind.”

“I needed some air,” the hobbit tells him, nudging the rope behind his back. “This place still stinks of dragon and I just couldn't sleep.”

“I don't blame you,” Bofur says softly before looking out over the ramparts. “The elves have been moving their archers into position. We're sorely outnumbered and I doubt we'll all live to see tomorrow evening. Assuming the battle lasts that long.”

“Maybe it won't come to that,” Bilbo replies, wanting to comfort the dwarf even though he can't tell Bofur the details of his plan. “Maybe the elves will change their mind.”

“Maybe. But I wouldn't bet your life on it,” his friend replies. Bofur's eyes flicker to the shadows behind Bilbo before he adds, “Indeed, no one could blame a soul for wishing to be elsewhere now.”

Bilbo opens his mouth to say something – make an excuse or tell the truth, he isn't sure. But the dwarf continues as though he hadn't seen anything at all. 

“It must be close to midnight. I should get Bombur for his watch. It'll take a bit to wake him,” Bofur tells the hobbit before turning to walk back down the stairs. “I hope you don't remember Thorin and our company too harshly in the end.”

“Bofur, wait,” Bilbo says once he finds his voice again. “I'll see you in the morning.”

He means the words. He isn't running, he isn't, but Bofur just shakes his head. “Goodbye Bilbo.”

The hobbit finds himself both touched and exasperated by the dwarf's reply. On the one hand, it's good to know that his friend would let him go without a fight, that his friends recognize the folly of their position and want him to survive. But Bofur should know better than to think that he'd turn coward. Hasn't he proved his courage well enough?

Bilbo shakes off the thought with a sigh. He knows that the dwarf didn't mean any judgment and he needs to focus on his mission now.

As soon as Bofur is out of sight, the hobbit climbs down the rope and then makes his way toward the ruins of Dale as quickly as he can. Once he is close to the city, Bilbo takes his ring from his pocket and slips it on his finger, its strange magic making his infiltration almost effortless. The burglar still has a few close calls since elven archers are everywhere and their ears are far too sharp, but soon he spies a fancy tent set up in the main square. 

That seems a likely spot to find Bard and Thranduil and indeed, when Bilbo gets closer, he can hear the sounds of arguing. So the hobbit sneaks to the edge of the tent and listens carefully.

To his surprise, there seem to be three people inside and one of them is Gandalf, the wizard finally having caught up to Thorin's company. Indeed, Bilbo is pleased to discover that Gandalf is arguing for the dwarves, though his reasons are not remotely comforting. The wizard warns of a great army of orcs marching on the Lonely Mountain, one large enough to destroy elves, men, and dwarves alike. But Thranduil will not listen. He thinks that Gandalf is only trying to save his companions and dismisses his words scornfully.

“You, bowman! Do you agree with this?” the wizard asks, frustration clear in his voice. “Is gold and treasure so important that you would buy it with dwarven blood?”

“It will not come to that,” Bard replies. “I only want what we were promised and this is a fight they cannot win. Thorin will see reason soon. He is no fool.”

Pretty words but so very, very wrong and Bilbo steps into the tent to set Bard straight. The Thorin that stands within the Lonely Mountain now will die before he surrenders one coin to the Lakemen. He will fight to his last breath and the last breath of his kinsman and count their blood fair paid as long as his gold is safe.

So the hobbit pulls off his ring and says, “You are the fool if you believe that Thorin will surrender. He is far from rational these days and while his companions do not agree with him, they will stand with him to defend their own.”

“Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf greets him. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“That's what I would like to know,” Thranduil agrees. “Along with how exactly you managed to sneak past my archers. If someone is sleeping at their post then I will cut off their ears myself.”

“I came to give you this,” Bilbo tells the elf king, taking out the Arkenstone and laying it upon the table.

“The Heart of the Mountain,” Thranduil breathes in shock. “The King's Jewel.”

“And worth a king's ransom,” Bard agrees.

“Thorin values this jewel above all else,” the burglar tells his gaping audience. “I believe that you will be able to exchange it for the treasure you are owed, though I would not count on Thorin's graciousness. Please, if you can, do not be too hard on him. He would never have broken his promise if he were himself and rest of his companions are sympathetic to your cause.

“Well, _your_ cause,” Bilbo tells Bard before turning to Thranduil and adding pointedly, “I'm still not sure what you are doing here.”

“And I am not entirely sure how Thorin's company escaped my dungeons,” the elf retorts.

“Ah, yes. Perhaps it's best if we let both those questions lie,” the hobbit mutters with a sheepish shrug. “But if I am to give you the Arkenstone, you must swear not to hurt my companions needlessly. All I want is for your standoff to be resolved without bloodshed and I believe a trade is your best chance.”

“I have no desire to hurt your friends,” Bard tells Bilbo kindly. “Laketown owes the Dragonslayer a great debt and I saw how Thorin treated his nephew when he tried to speak in our defense. My quarrel is with the King Beneath the Mountain and if he will keep his promise, then I see no need to fight. Yet, I must ask, how is this yours to give?”

The question raises the hobbit's opinion of the Lakeman, but Bilbo thought long and hard before stealing the Arkenstone and he will not allow Bard's morals to turn his path aside.

“I took the gem as my fourteenth share of treasure,” the hobbit explains as nonchalantly as he can. “I may be a burglar, but I'm an honest one.”

“Why would you do this? You owe us no loyalty.”

“I'm not doing it for you. I know that dwarves can be stubborn, pig-headed and infuriating. Suspicious and secretive. But they are also brave and kind and loyal to a fault,” Bilbo tells the bowman and if Thorin is not the one he's picturing in this moment, the hobbit will never tell. “I love my companions dearly and I would save them if I can. In exchange for this stone, I believe that Thorin will give you what is owed and then there will be no need for war.”

Bard and Thranduil accept Bilbo's offer without any further questions, probably because neither truly wishes to refuse the gift he brings. However, their greed serves the hobbit's purpose at the moment so he simply hands Bard the Arkenstone and then bids the kings farewell.

Bilbo intends to return to Erebor; he is hardly going to leave his companions on the eve of battle, even if he does not plan to stay. But the hobbit has only gone a couple yards when Gandalf grabs his arm.

“Do not go back,” the wizard warns him. “If dragon sickness has truly taken Thorin then you are not safe within the mountain. None of you are safe but I fear Thorin will react violently to a betrayal such as this.”

“He's not going to hurt me,” Bilbo protests, though he's not quite as certain as he sounds. Indeed, he's doing his best to forget that moment in the mountain when his beloved had stared at him with murder in his eyes. “Seriously, I can handle Thorin's anger. He'll scream and shout until he runs out of steam and then I'll make him listen to what I have to say.”

Gandalf doesn't believe the burglar; Bilbo can see it on his face. Thus, he's not particular surprised when the wizard orders him to stay in Dale until the morning. Unsurprised but irritated – the hobbit is old enough to make his own decisions and if Gandalf had to make one of the Lakemen guard him, the wizard could at least have picked someone a bit more competent. But instead he grabs the Master's former lackey and with the help of his ring, Bilbo sneaks past that fool in twenty seconds flat.

While the hobbit appreciates Gandalf's concern, only a fool or a fauntling runs from the consequences of his actions and Bilbo owes Thorin an explanation before he returns to Hobbiton. Indeed, the burglar still doesn't want to leave the dwarf lord or his friends and he truly hopes that losing the Arkenstone will snap his beloved from his madness as nothing else has done. 

So Bilbo sneaks back into Erebor and rejoins his companions. Bombur is still on watch, his snores covering up the few sounds the burglar makes as he lays down near Fíli and Kíli on the edge of their camp. The princes turn toward him in their sleep, almost as though they can sense that he is there. Fíli ends up against the hobbit's back while his brother slings an arm over Bilbo without waking, and the burglar falls asleep quickly with their warmth to comfort him.


	13. Gemsasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of the Five Armies begins

The next morning dawns clear and cold, the sunrise casting red shadows in Thorin's eyes. The dwarf lord took the final watch so it is he who first sees movement in the ruins of Dale and he who wakes his companions with a warning shout.

“To the gate!” Thorin orders and the other dwarves are quick to follow, gathering their weapons and their armor before joining him above the gate. 

Even Bilbo throws his mithril vest on beneath his tunic and ties Sting around his waist, though he hopes that neither will be necessary once Bard reveals the Arkenstone. Then the hobbit follows his companions up the steps, finding an empty space next to Bofur and smiling at the miner when the dwarf's eyes widen in surprise.

“I stand with my friends,” he murmurs before looking over the edge of the ramparts to the plain below. Thorin's company has arranged themselves in a line above the gate to watch as the army of elves and men marches closer and only their leader feels no fear at the sight before his eyes.

Most of the dwarves have never faced such an overwhelming force and even those who fought at Azanulbizar had an army at their backs. Despite Thorin's hatred, he has always been honest about elven battle skill and most of Thranduil's warriors will have trained for several dwarven lifetimes at this point. They have experience and numbers while the Lakemen have the strength of desperation and none of the dwarf lord's companions truly wish to fight.

Even if Dáin left as soon as he received Thorin's message and the dwarves of the Iron Hills arrive with reinforcements, fighting will only lead to slaughter on both sides. Azsâlul'abad will be bathed in blood and agony, their kingdom's future built on death instead of peace, and Fíli feels nauseous at the thought. 

The prince tries to keep his expression blank since the dwarves cannot afford to show their former allies weakness, but that does not stop the doubts. Kíli senses his brother's misgivings – and, indeed, he shares them – the archer pressing his shoulder against Fíli's in a solid line of comfort as Thranduil and Bard stop before the gate.

“You have had your day, King Beneath the Mountain,” the man shouts up to Thorin. “Will you give my people what you promised and end this foolishness?”

“Never!”

“What if I told you that payment for your promise has been offered and accepted? All that remains is for you to choose the terms.”

“Liar! I have given you nothing!” Thorin shouts in answer as his companions murmur to each other, wondering if the man has simply snapped. None but Bilbo could have dreamed that Bard would pull the Arkenstone from his tunic, the gem instantly recognizable even to those dwarves who have never seen its light before.

“I have this!” Bard announces, holding the Arkenstone up high. “I have the Heart of the Mountain and you must treat with me.”

“Thieves! How came you by the heirloom of our house?! That stone belongs to the king!” 

The shout comes from Kíli, several of the other dwarves turning to look at him in shock. The archer is angrier than anyone has ever seen him, his teeth bared in a snarl as he looks down at the man. “We saved your town and your children from Smaug's wrath and _this_ is how you repay us? This is how you repay my gift?! I should have let you die in agony!”

Bard actually looks surprised by the prince's outburst, a flicker of regret moving across his face. He has no idea what the Arkenstone means to Kíli, to his brother and their allies, and the archer isn't the only one prepared to leap from the battlements and take that gemstone back by force. Thorin may see his greatest treasure but Fíli, Kíli, and Nori see their only chance at happiness held hostage; if they are to have a future, the King Under the Mountain must have his jewel returned.

“This is a trick. A filthy ruse. The Arkenstone is in this mountain!”

Thorin's sharp denial is the only thing that stops his sister-sons from doing something reckless. Fíli is too angry to temper his brother in this moment, desperation driving the dwarves to consider actions that they never would have dreamed of otherwise.

However, the princes' rage turns to betrayal in an instant when Bilbo steps forward and says quietly, “The stone is real. I gave it to them.”

For a moment there is utter silence as the dwarves of Erebor gape at their burglar and then Thorin begins to shout. He calls the hobbit a traitor, a thief, and a dirty rat, every furious accusation making Bilbo flinch. Yet even though Thorin's anger is sharp and brutal, it is the naked hurt on Fíli's face that makes the hobbit cringe. 

He stands by his decision; he does, because he still sees no other way. But the elder prince has always been the more stoic of the brothers; for him to show such pain in his expression, he must be bleeding fit to die, and the hobbit sees the truth of this when he meets Kíli's haunted eyes.

So Bilbo finds himself speaking as much to the brothers as to Thorin when he tries to explain, “I was going to give it to you many times. I wanted to, but...”

“But what, thief?!”

“You have changed, Thorin,” Bilbo says, praying that his beloved will finally see the light. “The dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word. The dwarf I fell in love with would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin.”

“You would speak to me of love?” the dwarf lord hisses, while Fíli and Kíli just watch the hobbit brokenly. Yet for all their pain, neither of the princes tries to hurt Bilbo; it takes their uncle to do that. 

“Betrayer!” Thorin shouts, lunging forward to grab the burglar's tunic and dragging him to the edge of the battlements. “Curse you! Curse the wizard who forced you on this company!”

The dwarf starts to shove Bilbo over the ramparts, the hobbit too shocked to fight back. He can only stare at the once beloved face now twisted beyond all recognition and wonder if he was ever loved at all. For how could Thorin do this even in his madness if he truly cared about the hobbit? Bilbo should have seen the signs; he should have taken the dwarf lord's first threat in earnest and fled the mountain days ago. The burglar should have listened to Fíli instead of dismissing his concerns.

Indeed, it is Fíli who rushes to Bilbo's rescue, the prince's own pain forgotten in his horror. Kíli is barely a step behind his brother and the rest of their companions follow after, the dwarves managing to drag Thorin off their hobbit before he completes his crime. 

However, the dwarf lord won't stop struggling. He is prepared to fight his way through all of his kinsmen in order to reach Bilbo and the ramparts might have run red with blood if Gandalf had not intervened.

 **“Do not damage my burglar!”** the wizard commands, his voice echoing like thunder from the stone. “If you do not want him anymore then let him return to me unharmed.”

Gandalf's magic knocks Thorin back a step, refocusing his rage away from Bilbo so that the hobbit can escape. Bofur and the princes guard the burglar as he runs to the far side of the battlements, the dwarves keeping a wary eye on their leader in case he tries again. But the dwarf lord seems to have dismissed Bilbo from his thoughts because he pays no attention to the hobbit as he throws a rope over the edge of the gate and climbs down to the ground.

Bofur pulls the rope back up while Fíli and Kíli watch their amrâbulnas run to Gandalf's side. Although it hurts to see him go, the princes cannot join him after what he's done. That would be treason to match the burglar's and while the dwarves are sure that their hobbit had his reasons, the sting of betrayal is too fresh to listen to them now.

But they will listen someday. The princes are sure of that. 

While their uncle has thrown away the hobbit's love – indeed, he's thrown away their hobbit – Fíli and Kíli cannot do the same. Bilbo is still their missing piece and they still love him anyway. Once this mess is over, the princes will give their amrâbulnas a chance to explain his actions and if his intentions were pure, Fíli and Kíli will do their best to lift his banishment. Once this mess is over, the dwarves will stand against their uncle’s fury no matter what the cost.

However, Fíli and Kíli cannot do that until the Arkenstone adorns the throne of the Lonely Mountain and their boon is spoken into law. They made a promise to themselves and to their allies in exchange for their assistance and the line of Durin has already broken far too many vows. 

So the princes make sure that their amrâbulnas is safe with Gandalf and then turn their attention back to the task at hand.

Thorin’s attempt on Bilbo’s life may have derailed the negotiations for a minute, but Bard's offer still requires a response. The Arkenstone in trade for what was promised and this is a bargain that Fíli and Kíli want their uncle to accept. Bilbo may have betrayed them but war can only cause more sorrow; let the dwarves of Azsâlul'abad turn their hearts to peace before too much blood is spilled. Because the Lonely Mountain cannot stand alone forever and there must be reconciliation for their people to survive.

“Tell us, Thorin Oakenshield. Are we resolved? The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised,” Bard calls to the dwarf lord. 

“Why should I buy back what is mine?” Thorin growls, pacing back and forth across the ramparts as he curses everyone. “I will kill you all!”

“I have heard enough,” Thranduil says, turning away from the gates. His army begins to ready their weapons even as Gandalf makes one last attempt at reasoning.

“Thorin! Lay down your arms! Open these gates,” the wizard begs. 

“Please uncle, we cannot win this fight,” Fíli and Kíli say, adding their voices to Gandalf's plea. Thorin must have the Arkenstone in order to secure their future and an even trade seems the best choice for everyone involved. No good can come from fighting with their allies. No good can come from war.

Thorin is silent as he contemplates his choices, the dragon sickness loosening its talons as he looks upon the army at his gates.

“Give us your answer,” Bard says into the silence. “Will you have peace or war?”

For a moment the princes think that Thorin will back down. But before he can speak, a raven suddenly soars over Thranduil's army and alights upon the battlements. When the bird croaks triumphantly, Thorin looks to the east and his sister-sons can tell by his expression that their hopes of peace are lost. Because Dáin cannot be far behind the raven and the King Under the Mountain will never agree to give up a portion of his treasure with an army on his side.

Indeed, there is a fey light in Thorin's eyes as he smiles down at his enemies and growls, “I will have war.”

Moments later, the first dwarves crest the eastern hills, rank after rank of warriors marching toward the gates. Behind the line of infantry, Fíli and Kíli see wheeled ballistae, dwarven cavalry, and war chariots pulled by three pairs of mountain goats, weapons of war that the princes have only read about. Dáin himself is riding an enormous war pig, both mount and rider armored heavily. The Lord of the Iron Hills has come prepared for battle and although the dwarves are still outnumbered, he doesn't seem inclined to resolve this peacefully.

Dáin and Thranduil shout insults back and forth and when the elf king refuses to leave, the dwarf declares their battle on. He rides back to his warriors while Thranduil's army turns smoothly toward the hillside, leaving Bilbo, Gandalf, and the Lakemen to watch in horror as their former allies start to fight.

“Send in the goats,” Dáin roars with a wave of his arm. The ranks of dwarven warriors shift at his signal, opening space for the cavalry to charge. A line of armored mountain goats thunders down the hill as their riders hold their weapons high.

Thranduil shouts a command to his archers and moments later, the sky is filled with arrows. A black cloud descends upon Dáin's warriors and it seems impossible that any could survive. But the Lord of the Iron Hills came equipped for Mirkwood and at his shout, dwarvish ballistae fly. These enormous missiles slam into Thranduil's army, their trailing metal fins sweeping every elvish arrow from the sky along the way.

“How do you like the old twirly-whirlies?!” Dáin cackles from the hillside as the elf king barks another order and his archers shoot again.

A valiant effort but the dwarf lord brought ballistae to spare. Thranduil's second volley of arrows is swept aside just like the one before and the archers move back behind the elvish line when Dáin's goats draw close. The cavalry slams into the elf king's warriors, their armored horns carving huge holes in Thranduil's line. Pike and shield fight axe and hammer, the dwarves of Erebor growing quieter with every blow that falls.

Thorin's company cheered at first to see Dáin stand up to Thranduil, every old grudge between their people firing their blood. But when the fighting starts and their kin begin to die, the dwarves fall silent one by one. Kíli and Fíli first, then Dwalin and the Ri brothers, Óin and Glóin, Balin, Bombur and his cousins, until only Thorin is watching the slaughter with a smile on his face.

The King Under the Mountain feels almost gleeful at the blood being spilled before his gates. Thranduil and his people deserve naught but death for daring to challenge the throne of Azsâlul'abad and if he didn't need to protect his gold from greedy fingers, Thorin would leap over the battlements to kill a few more elves himself.

So the king watches with anticipation as Dáin signals the remainder of his army forward. The dwarf lord leads the charge: one war pig, half a dozen armored chariots and several hundred warriors racing toward the battlefield.

Razor sharp wheels slice through the chaos, blood and screams trailing in their wake. There is no strategy at this point and those watching can barely tell their friend from foe. There is only the crush of battle, a writhing chaos of death and mud and hate, and it seems as though these armies will destroy each other and themselves.

But then the world begins to shake and every soul freezes instantly. The ground comes alive beneath their feet, trembling so fiercely the dwarves of Erebor are forced to clutch at the battlements to keep from falling and the armies on the field cannot keep their feet. The quake goes on and on until the southern slopes begin to crumble and enormous creatures burst out of the ground.

“Wheel worms!” Gandalf mutters as elves, men, and dwarves stare at the monsters in surprise. No one dares to move until the worms disappear into the earth again and an army of orcs begins to pour from the tunnels that the wheel worms left behind.

“Oh, come on!” Dáin shouts, wheeling his mount to face this brand new enemy. The Lord of the Iron Hills signals his army, his quarrel with the elves forgotten in the face of this more dangerous enemy. The dwarven infantry runs forward, slamming their shields into the earth to create a wall; a fragile line compared to the endless tide of orcs now bearing down on them. 

But then, between one breath and the next, Thranduil's army moves. The elves of Mirkwood leap over the dwarven shield wall and fall upon the first line of orcs, cutting them to ribbons like scythes reaping wheat. Dáin's warriors charge after their new allies and the battle is joined in earnest, the clash of metal ringing out across the field. 

“I'm going over the wall. Who's with me?” Fíli shouts. The prince cannot stand on the sidelines any longer while their brethren fight and the rest of his companions are quick to agree, lifting their weapons with a rousing cheer.

“Stand down. No one is leaving this mountain while I still draw breath,” the dwarf lord growls, silencing his kinsmen's protests with a burning glare. “Anyone who disobeys me will be declared a traitor and cast out.”

When Kíli looks ready to argue further despite the threat of banishment, Fíli grabs his arm before the younger prince can speak. “We cannot disobey him, brother. We cannot risk the consequence.”

“But Bilbo is out there,” the archer whispers back, his distress threatening to rip the heart from Fíli's chest. Kíli has never been the type to hold a grudge and the threat to their hobbit's life far outweighs his betrayal in the prince's mind. “What if he dies while we cower in the dark?”

“Then we will have our vengeance no matter what the cost,” his brother promises. “But we are too close to our goal to jeopardize our chances. Trust me, Kí. You earned our boon so let me be the one to speak with Thorin; that way he cannot take his blessing back. I will make our uncle see reason somehow; he must see reason when we all know this isn't right.”

Kíli allows the arguments of his amrâbulnas to sway him, though he does it grudgingly. The prince will trust Fíli's judgment since his brother has never steered him wrong before and yet, there is a first time for everything. He cannot help but wonder if Bilbo will be able to forgive them for their actions, assuming he survives the fight outside. Is the ability to court their amrâbulnas truly worth their honor and the lives of their kinsmen? What if the hobbit cannot love them after this?

The archer cannot bring himself to leave the battlements when Thorin leaves and Fíli follows, determination burning fiercely in his brother's chest. Instead, Kíli watches the battle raging on the plain, his gaze locked on Gandalf's hat and his prayers with the burglar who should be at the wizard's side.

He watches them until they flee into the ruins of Dale with Bard's fishermen behind them, only the flickers of emotion that he feels from Bilbo telling the prince that his amrâbulnas still lives. In this, Bilbo is doing far better than many of their allies for while the dwarves of the Iron Hills and Thranduil's elves fight bravely, they are sorely outnumbered and eventually Kíli has to turn away from the slaughter on the field.

There is no honor in watching as others fight his battles for him. There is no honor in standing on the sidelines as his kindred die. Whatever glory the archer gained from killing Smaug, he swears that he can feel it slipping through his fingers with each second spent in cowardice.

As much as Kíli wants the boon his uncle promised, he isn't sure that he deserves it after this and his heart is troubled when he goes to join his brother once again. Fíli's mood isn't any better; whatever the older prince said to their uncle clearly had no effect and indeed, Thorin is nowhere to be seen while the rest of their companions drift around the main hall despondently. 

The archer sits down by his brother with a frustrated growl, the princes' emotions feeding off each other until both of them are teetering on the edge of furious despair. Kíli is almost ready to charge into battle and damn the consequences when Thorin finally reappears and Fíli cannot blame his brother for finally snapping then. The older prince is only irritated that the archer gets there first.

Because Kíli says what both of them are thinking, rounding on their uncle with murder in his eyes, “I cannot do this, Thorin. I cannot sit here cowering within this mountain while our kindred fight and die upon the field. If this is the cost of Azsâlul'abad, then it is not worth paying. You can banish me if you wish, I do not care; at least I will know that I had honor to the last. Cowardice is not in my blood, uncle, and you are no son of Durin now.”

During the archer's speech, Fíli moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with his brother and several of their companions rise to their feet as well. Whatever Thorin's answer, the princes will be entering the battle for their homeland and Fíli will be surprised if a number of their companions do not join the fight as well.

This choice may cost Fíli and Kíli their family, but at least they will be able to hold their heads up high when they meet their ancestors. The princes will be able to look Bilbo in the eye without shame when they state their intentions and indeed, perhaps being banished would free them to court their amrâbulnas without the law's constraint.

However, instead of rejecting Kíli's words, Thorin lays a hand on the archer's shoulder and smiles, a smile that his sister-sons have not seen in far too long.

“You are right, Kíli. All of you are right. I have been a blind fool, more concerned with treasure than the best interests of our people, and if I am to be a king in deed as well as title, my priorities must change. The lives of our kindred are worth more than all the gold within this mountain and while I know that I have no right to ask this of you, will you follow me into battle one more time?”

There is only one answer to that question. The companions of Thorin Oakenshield pick up their weapons, shields, and helmets and shout their battle cry.

The charge begins with Bombur. The dwarf climbs to the top of the gates with one of the great horns of Azsâlul'abad and sounds the attack, the deep note rolling across the battlefield to give Thorin's allies hope. The King Under the Mountain is finally on his way.

As Bombur sounds the charge, the rest of his companions hoist one of the morning bells onto a pulley and aim it at the gate. Just before the last note fades, Thorin signals Glóin and Bofur to release their ropes and this makeshift battering ram smashes through the walled off gate. The dwarf lord and his companions start running before the last piece falls, their voices raised in an ancient battle cry.

This is Fíli's first true battle and yet the prince feels no fear for what's to come. He feels only exhilaration and relief of doing _something_ ; the Sigin-tarâg were never meant to run from a fight.

Instead, the dwarves run toward it, Dáin's surviving warriors rallying around the king to push back their enemies. Fíli feels the shock of that clash through his whole body as his blade slams into the first orc's chest. He barely has time to kick the orc's corpse free before another is upon him. But this one is killed by Kíli, his brother slotting in at his side so they can watch each other's flanks.

Soon the ground runs red beneath the princes' feet, their company's first wild charge splitting into groups of two and three as Azog's orcs fight back. But Dáin had brought his finest warriors and the ashânumahâl has always been an advantage in this sort of pitched battle. Bonded pairs fight as one, ducking and striking around each other fluidly. They never get in each other's way, they never strike another dwarf by accident, and the chaotic flailing of their foes cannot stand against such unity. Even though this also means that two dwarves die for every one.

With the help of Thorin's company, Dáin and his warriors gradually begin to clear the field. They slay Azog's great beasts with spear and javelin; bring down their foes with pike and battleaxe until they finally have some space to breathe.

Yet the day is not won, not as long as Azog stands unmolested in his high perch on Raven Hill. They could kill orcs for days and not end the struggle; only once the monster has been beheaded will Thorin's kin be safe.

“We need to get up there!” the dwarf lord shouts, pointing at Raven Hill when his company regroups. “I will bury my sword in Azog's chest and end this fight for good.”

“You'll never make it,” Dáin tells his cousin. “Half the battlefield stands in-between you and my warriors lack the strength to make another charge. We can hold this line but we cannot push through and you cannot fight your way to Raven Hill singlehandedly. It's bloody suicide.”

But Thorin just grins as he catches sight of something over the other dwarf lord's shoulder, grabbing a nearby goat and swinging into its saddle with a feral laugh. “I am not going alone, cousin.”

Dáin turns around and sees one of his war chariots sweeping toward him, the blades on its wheels carving a bloody swathe through the battlefield. Balin is at the reins with Ori and Dwalin standing by the chariot's mounted crossbow and Fíli, Kíli, and Nori clinging to its armored sides. The princes nod at their uncle when he meets their eyes and Thorin raises his sword high in the air.

“To Azog!” he shouts before kicking his goat and charging across the field.

“Hold tight lads,” Balin tells the others, snapping the reins sharply and following his king.

“You're all mad bastards,” Dáin says, shaking his head as they disappear into the distance and then turning back to his warriors. “Crazy fools; I like it. Now get that shield wall up!”

Thorin trusts his cousin to hold the gates until he deals with Azog so he does not spare another thought for the dwarves he left behind. His focus is on the ground before him and his sword swings ceaselessly as his mount smashes through the orcish line.

The war chariot follows closely on Thorin's heels, the dwarves aboard laying waste to every orc in reach. Kíli fires arrows as fast as he can pull them from his quiver while Nori and Ori use their slings with lethal skill. Fíli is more cautious with his knives since he would hate to lose his favorites, but several enemies learn the strength of dwarvish steel and Dwalin uses the chariot’s mounted crossbow to clear the path ahead.

Indeed, the dwarves leave a trail of blood and death in their wake, several of their enemies taking one look at their faces and running the other way. But the closer Thorin gets to Raven Hill, the thicker the fighting and soon his progress starts to slow.

Normal orcs may not be a problem for the dwarf lord and his companions, but Azog brought far more dangerous beasts as well. Balin lets out a curse when an ogre nearly sideswipes the chariot’s lead pair of goats, only a quick jerk on the reins saving them from disaster. Dwalin shoots the creature with his crossbow but even as the ogre falls, another charges toward them with a roar.

Thorin’s companions lose sight of their king as they’re driven off the battlefield and onto the frozen river that runs near Erebor. The chariot’s wheels slide across the ice but the mountain goats keep moving forward, their hooves catching on the slick surface and dragging the chariot along.

Seconds later, another ogre crashes onto the ice. This one is larger than the others, armor covering its chest and enormous metal claws seemingly grafted to its hands. Its massive weight breaks the surface of the ice and it lets out a roar of pain as it falls into the frozen water underneath. But the creature is so large that its feet can touch the bottom and it just keeps coming, massive claws threatening to crush the fleeing chariot.

The dwarves try to bring the ogre down; arrows, rocks, and knives turning its face into a pincushion. Yet the monster refuses to die and every step just brings it closer, grasping hands trying to drag Balin from his place. 

“Bring it down!” Dwalin shouts.

“We’re bloody trying!” Kíli shouts back. Fíli just throws another knife into the ogre’s gaping maw and Nori slings a rock into its eye. But it’s Ori’s missile that finally tips the balance. The stone slams into the creature’s forehead and knocks him backward, their enemy letting out a hoarse scream as it chokes on Fíli's dagger and then disappears beneath the surface without coming up again.

The dwarves breathe a sigh of relief, looking around for Thorin to rejoin their king. But the respite is short-lived and Nori curses sharply when a pack of wargs leaps down onto the ice.

Kíli uses up his last half dozen arrows trying to kill the creatures and while several of them fall, it's not enough. One warg leaps onto the closest goat, sinking its fangs in deep and knocking the whole chariot sideways until the traces finally snap. The monster falls back to feast but the delay allows the rest of the pack to get closer, the dwarves fending off their next attack with fists and blades. 

Two more wargs fall before another goat is slaughtered and now the chariot is truly listing to one side. The broken traces drag across the ice, slowing the dwarves' progress even more as their enemies close in.

“We'll never make it!” Ori shouts and his companions know that he is right. There are only three goats remaining and they're struggling to pull the chariot's weight while wargs snap at their heels.

“Cut the traces. Ride the goats to Raven Hill!” Balin orders. Fíli and Kíli dash forward without question but Dwalin hesitates.

“I cannot leave you,” the warrior says, looking from his amrâbulnâs to his brother. The three dwarves he loves most in this world are on this chariot and he will not abandon them to die, not even for his king.

“We'll be all right,” Nori tells him. “I'll watch out for my brother and see you on the other side.”

“Watch out for yourself as well,” Dwalin replies. He can't say more with Balin watching, but his amrâbulnâs understand his meaning judging by the softness in their eyes.

“We will,” Ori promises. “But you must go help Thorin. If we lose this battle, then we're all dead anyway. Go on, husband mine, and don't you worry; the three of us will manage fine.”

Dwalin still doesn't like it but he knows that Ori has a point. So he leans down and kisses his husband quickly and then clasps Nori on the shoulder, wishing desperately that he could kiss the other dwarf as well. 

“Durin be with you, brother,” Balin tells the warrior. “Just give us a kick around on your way and we'll show these wargs the strength of dwarvish steel.”

“Good luck,” Dwalin replies, clasping his brother's hand before he turns and leaps onto the back of the last goat. Fíli and Kíli have been waiting for him and they slash through the leather traces, freeing their goats from harness so they can run free. Dwalin does the same a moment later. But as his goat leaps forward, the dwarf kicks the side of the chariot so that it spins around to face the oncoming wargs head on.

Without the weight of the chariot to drag them down, the three goats quickly outpace their companions. Dwalin lets his mount choose its own path, looking back to watch the dwarves he left behind. The warrior can't help being worried despite the others' promises.

However, that last kick put the chariot's front-mounted crossbow back into play and Balin wastes no time in firing.

“I am much too old for this,” the dwarf mutters as he makes mincemeat of the charging wargs, crossbow bolts knocking the creatures off their feet. One warg survives the barrage but Nori and Ori kill it with their slings before it can reach the chariot. Then the dwarves turn to wave to their amrâbulnas, Nori shouting a distant, “I told you we'd be fine...”

Dwalin can't hold back a grin, shaking his head at the dwarf's antics. While his husband's brother drives him crazy sometimes, the warrior can't deny that Nori makes his life more interesting. If only the three of them could be what Mahal had intended when he gave them their karrash. But Dwalin has never been a dreamer so he shakes away that thought.

The warrior spies Thorin up ahead and steers his goat toward the dwarf lord, Fíli and Kíli following on his heels. The trio reunites with Thorin at the base of Raven Hill, their mounts racing up the steep stairs without pause. Well, most of them. Fíli has to bite back a chuckle when his brother's goat decides to take the scenic route and leaps straight up the cliff instead. The mountain goats were bred for this and it has no trouble with the slick rocks even as Kíli's stomach twists warningly.

Then the dwarves are at the summit and there is no thought but battle. Another group of orcs is waiting for them, Thorin and his companions leaping off their goats with shouted battle cries. The four dwarves make quick work of their enemies before looking around for Azog.

The ruins on the hilltop appear deserted; the Defiler is nowhere to be seen. There is only empty silence and the princes feel a chill when they look toward the far tower where the pale orc had stood. 

“Maybe he's gone,” the archer says and Fíli wants to believe it even as he can feel his brother’s doubt. Indeed, the prince shares Kíli's misgivings; everything about this place feels wrong. But when Thorin asks his sister-sons to search the ruins for Azog, the pair can't disobey.

“Stay low and quiet,” the dwarf lord warns and the princes fully intend to follow this advice. They make their way down the stairs to the frozen lake that crowns the top of Raven Hill and step carefully onto the ice. Fíli and Kíli have nearly reached the far tower when the sounds of fighting ring out behind them, the dwarves glancing back to see Thorin and Dwalin holding off a horde of goblin mercenaries. But despite everything that's happened, the princes trust their uncle to protect them now. The dwarves continue forward, knowing that their kinsmen won't let their exit be cut off.

At first glance, the watchtower truly does seem empty. Fíli and Kíli find only a few scattered footprints in the dust of decades past and the brothers follow this trail up the weathered stairs. The stone is solid beneath their feet despite the years and lack of maintenance, no sound but their own breathing in their ears. 

Kíli and Fíli follow the footprints out of the stairwell and into one of the upper hallways. These prints were definitely made recently but the princes can't tell if the orcs were coming or going at the time. Indeed, the lack of other signs makes the brothers start to wonder if Azog has fled after all.

However, just as they round another corner, Fíli and Kíli hear a sudden drumming and see the glow of torches up ahead. The archer raises his blade and starts forward but his brother puts an arm across his chest.

“Don't be stupid,” Fíli tells him. “I know uncle told us to find Azog but we've lost surprise already and we don't know how many there might be. Let's go regroup for now.”

Although he lets out a huff, Kíli can't deny his brother's logic so he sheathes his weapon and turns back toward the stairs. The older prince follows a few steps behind the archer, one hand on his blade in case the orcs try to rush them from behind. But the torchlight and the drumming seems to be keeping pace instead, neither closer nor farther away by the time the brothers reach the stairs. Kíli has just started to descend when the whole tower suddenly shakes to its foundation and a deafening crack echoes through the stone.

“Fíli!” the archer shouts. He spins around and the older prince has one glimpse of his brother's panicked face before the ceiling crashes down between them. Fíli has to jump back in order to avoid being crushed by falling stone, the dust making him cough helplessly.

“Kíli!” he calls out. “Kí, are you all right?”

The question isn't really necessary since the ashânumahâl is still strong between them, their bond resonating with worry but no pain of injury. But Fíli is still relieved when his brother answers back.

“I'm fine. I'm here. What happened?”

“Azog must have trapped the stairs,” the older prince says. “I'm sorry; I should have seen it earlier. You need to go back and get Thorin. I'll try to find another way around.”

“What? No! I won't leave you,” Kíli refuses hotly. Fíli hears his brother grunt as he tries to move the blockage, the whole pile shifting dangerously.

“Stop! If we try to clear the stairwell, the whole tower might come down,” Fíli tells him, pressing close to the stone. “I know it sucks but you have to go now. You have to leave before you miss your chance. I'll be all right, I promise. I just need to find another set of stairs.”

There's a long pause and the prince can feel his brother's reluctance. But eventually Kíli mutters, “Fine. I'll go get Thorin. But you better be right behind me, Fí. Otherwise, me and uncle will be coming in for you.”

“It's a deal. And thank you,” Fíli says quietly. Whatever happens, he needs his brother safe. Not that the prince intends on getting caught here and he sends that reassurance to Kíli through their bond.

His brother lets out one last curse before he finally leaves, the sound of his boots fading down the stairs. Fíli waits until he can't hear the archer any longer and then turns to go himself. The hall may be blocked by his enemies in one direction, but the other is still clear and hopefully the prince will find another staircase there.

However, Fíli has only taken a few steps before light suddenly appears in front of him as well. Azog's orcs must have circled around the tower and the drumming grows louder and louder even as the prince's heart starts pounding in his chest. He knows that he won't be able to escape without a fight, not anymore; this part of the hallway has no windows, the stairs are blocked, and the torchlight keeps drawing closer on both sides. 

So the prince unsheathes his sword and waits, gripping the hilt tightly as the first orc runs into view. Fíli skewers the creature without hesitation; he may have fallen into Azog's trap but he won't die easily, not when his amrâbulnâs need him to survive.

The thought of Kíli and Bilbo fills the dwarf with new determination and Fíli shifts his stance even as he tries to keep his emotions out of the ashânumahâl. He doesn't trust his brother not to turn around.

The prince is so focused on dimming their connection that he barely manages to dodge the next orc's strike. He stumbles slightly as the sword slices through his tunic and then rolls forward to slit his foe's throat from ear to ear. This orc crumples but two more come up behind Fíli, a wild sweep of his sword giving him time to pull several daggers free. The dwarf slams the first knife deep into the eye socket of the orc that tries to grab his shoulder even as he guts the other with his blade. Then Fíli throws the next dagger, taking out the goblin that has just pulled out a crossbow further down the passageway.

His enemies are warier now but the dwarf knows that he hasn't bought himself more than a few seconds to regroup. He needs to break through the wall of orcs, win free long enough to find another exit and make the fight more fair.

Fíli leaps forward, slamming bodily into the front line of orcs that is blocking the way forward. His move takes them by surprise, his enemies falling in a tangle of limbs even as his blades flash out to steal their lives away. Fíli carves his way through the orcs and goblins, taking a few minor wounds amidst the carnage as he tries to reach the open passage further on. The dwarf does not pause when the floor grows slick with blood beneath his feet. He just runs across the bodies of his enemies instead as his daggers drop them where they stand.

Fíli is almost out of knives by the time he kills the last orc blocking his escape, his way clear to run at last. So the prince does, his heart leaping when he rounds the corner and sees another set of stairs. But before the dwarf can reach them, a crossbow bolt slams into his back. The force of the blow drives the prince to his knees, his right shoulder burning in agony.

His walls are breaking now – the shock too much to keep them strong – and he can feel Kíli's worry loud and clear. Fíli tries to tell him not to come, sending a wave of warning through their bond, but now that Kíli knows the danger, he won't be able to stay out of the fight for long. He'll climb the tower if he has to and the prince can't let his brother run headfirst into this trap as well.

So he forces himself to his feet as the orcs draw closer. They think their prey defenseless but the first creature to touch him goes down with a dagger in its chest. Fíli may not be able to lift his sword arm now but he's far from weaponless. He'll claw his way free with his teeth if it comes to that.

But as the dwarf turns toward the stairs again, Azog appears from the shadows to bar his way. The Defiler's sword is already in mid-swing and Fíli can't hope to block the strike while injured. So the prince throws himself to the stone instead, biting back a scream when the move jostles the crossbow bolt still buried in his flesh.

He only lays there for a moment as he struggles to catch his breath but that moment is enough. Azog's orcs fall upon Fíli before he can gain his feet again. The creatures swarm over him, ripping his weapons from his hands and tearing at every piece of armor they can reach.

Fíli tries to struggle but he barely manages to pull one arm free before three more orcs grab hold, his enemies pinning him to the stone while Azog watches with a cruel smirk on his face. Once the prince is well and truly captured, the pale orc yanks out the crossbow bolt that brought his foe down. Fíli screams then, pain overwhelming his defenses as blood gushes freely down his shoulder, and the dwarf can only whisper an apology to his amrâbulnâs before the darkness claims his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy battles, can you tell? :)


	14. Ramekhsasekh

If Bilbo never sees another battle, that will be too soon. He's been sticking close to Gandalf ever since Thorin exiled him from Erebor, sick at heart with worry and with fear. The hobbit is afraid for his friends and afraid for his honor; he's afraid for his own life and what Thorin might try to do to his kinsfolk if Dáin wins. Because Bilbo was certain that the dwarf lord loved him and Thorin tried to kill him anyway.  
  
The dwarf may be sick, his mind wracked with dragon sickness and his senses lost to greed, but that doesn't stop the hurt that Bilbo's feeling. That doesn't stop the sense of betrayal or the fear and even if both of them survive this, the hobbit isn't sure whether they'll have a future after this. He still loves Thorin but he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to trust the dwarf again.  
  
The hobbit almost hates Thorin in this moment and he definitely hates both Dáin and Thranduil for their damned stubbornness. He was trying to stop this. He sacrificed all he had – Thorin's love, the princes' friendship, any chance he had of staying with the dwarves in Erebor – and for what? So the Lord of the Iron Hills and the King of Mirkwood could spit insults at each other and then spill the blood of their own people in order to salve their wounded pride. Everything that happens now is just a waste of lives.  
  
Indeed, Bilbo is actually relieved when an army of orcs pours onto the battlefield. Sure Azog's forces have them outnumbered three-to-one and the hobbit is probably going to be slaughtered where he stands, but at least the elves and dwarves stop trying to bash each other's heads now that they have a common enemy.  
  
Only the dwarves upon the ramparts and Bard’s Lakemen do not move to join the battle against Azog. Bilbo is certain that his companions want to – Fíli and Kíli would never wish to sit a struggle out – but he doesn't expect them to defy their king. Dwarves value loyalty before all else and the hobbit can’t blame them for it despite what Thorin has become.  
  
He doesn’t blame the Lakemen either. Bard’s people are not fighters, not really, and their horror is obvious as the field runs red with blood. Bilbo doesn't feel much better; he stands by Gandalf and feels sick to his stomach, wishing nothing more than to have this bloodshed done.  
  
But then Azog signals his forces and part of the pale orc's army splits off toward Dale. The Lakemen left their women and children in that ruined city when they marched on the Lonely Mountain and the threat to their kin overcomes their fear.  
  
“All of you! Fall back to Dale!” Bard shouts, raising his sword and leading the Lakemen toward the city. Gandalf and Bilbo follow, largely for lack of other options in the hobbit’s case. He doesn’t want to be left alone in the midst of a battlefield and if he must fight, then helping the Lakemen defend their families seems a good place to make a stand. Home and hearth is the sort of prize that Bilbo can understand.  
  
So the burglar grips Sting tightly as the Lakemen dash over the causeway, their small group reaching the city just as Azog's forces smash through Dale's outer wall. The city does not fall easily but the Defiler came prepared for a siege and even the finest stonework weathers over time.  
  
Soon the orcs are pouring into Dale en masse, their harsh shouts ringing through the streets. Bard's people do their best but they're both outnumbered and outmatched and they are slowly driven back. Bilbo and Gandalf join a score of Lakemen trying to defend the market, Sting shining brightly in the hobbit's hands. Not even the black ichor of orcish blood can hide the dagger's glow as the hobbit does his best to back up Gandalf. The wizard is using his own sword and his staff to lethal effect, but even he needs someone to watch his back.  
  
Despite their best efforts, the Lakemen lose the market and then the blacksmith's quarter, orcs pouring into the city from half a dozen breaches in the wall. Bilbo can hear Bard shouting over the chaos as he strikes and dodges frantically. The man is calling for all women and children to hide in the great hall, their brothers and husbands ready to die in their defense. This gallant sacrifice can do little except delay the carnage but the Lakemen will not give up without a fight.  
  
There is a strength to Bard's people that Bilbo quite admires; a grit of practicality that's almost hobbitish. These men will do what's necessary whether or not it's pleasant and if the burglar has to die, he's proud to die right here. Of course, he would rather be with Thorin or with Fíli and Kíli, laughing around a campfire as they cuddle up for warmth. But Bilbo burned those bridges when he stole the Arkenstone and he can't regret that action even though it led him here.  
  
However, just as Azog's forces are preparing their last charge, a horn suddenly sounds from Erebor. The sonorous note rolls over the battlefield and leaves silence in its wake, elves, dwarves, men, and monsters stopping in their tracks.  
  
All eyes turn toward the Lonely Mountain and the dwarven warriors who have been driven back against the gate. There are a few elves scattered here and there amongst them but most of Thranduil's warriors followed the elf king into Dale some time ago. The survivors are ranged amongst the Lakemen, defending those cobbled streets as best they can.  
  
Although Bilbo can't see much detail at this distance, he sees the mountain's front gate shatter and a ripple pass through the dwarven line. The hobbit's heart swells near to bursting when Thorin and his companions charge into battle, the dwarves of the Iron Hills falling in behind their king.  
  
Bilbo can't help but hope that his beloved has finally shaken off his dragon sickness. Perhaps Thorin has finally gained his right mind again.  
  
“The dwarves! They're rallying!” the hobbit shouts to his allies and the Lakemen take courage from the words. Bard and the others raise their swords and start to push back their enemies, reckless desperation giving them a second wind. Indeed, the orcs are taken by surprise; they thought their foes defeated, their spirits broken and their bodies soon to follow beneath the monsters' wicked blades.  
  
A strange exhilaration fills Bilbo's heart as he joins the charge, orc after orc tasting the sharp edge of his sword. The creatures fall one after another and the burglar begins to think that they may win this after all. He may actually survive this battle and have a chance to reunite with Thorin and his kin.  
  
Bilbo glances over the ramparts, searching for a glimpse of his beloved in the chaos on the plain. At first the hobbit cannot pick out the dwarf lord amongst the writhing mass of bodies, but then one thread of movement stands out from the rest. Thorin is carving his way through Azog's forces upon a mountain goat while Kíli, Fíli, and several of the others follow in a chariot. Bilbo would recognize the princes and his beloved anywhere, though he can't quite place the rest. His former companions are too far away for him to see their faces now.  
  
“He's taking his best warriors,” Gandalf says, coming up beside the burglar.  
  
“To do what?” Bilbo asks a little desperately. Thorin cannot be fleeing the battle – his nephews would not bear it – but the hobbit cannot imagine where the dwarf is going now.  
  
“To cut the head from the snake,” the wizard tells him. “He's going up to Raven Hill.”  
  
Gandalf points to the frozen hill that looks over the plain and Bilbo's fears are eased by what he sees. Azog the Defiler is standing on that hilltop and so Thorin is not fleeing; the dwarf lord means to save them all. Even Bilbo knows that killing the pale orc is the surest way to end this battle and Thorin's allies need only survive until that monster falls.  
  
However, the Lakemen have barely secured the market when Legolas and Tauriel suddenly come tearing through the streets on horseback. The elves skid to a halt in front of Gandalf, leaping down from their mount while wizard stares in shock.  
  
“Legolas? Legolas Greenleaf? What are you doing here?”  
  
“We came to warn you! There is a second army!” the elf prince tells him. “Bolg leads a force of Gundabad orcs and they are almost upon us! We must fall back to Erebor!”  
  
“Gundabad?!” Gandalf gasps. Although the word means nothing to Bilbo, anything that makes the wizard turn that color cannot be good news and the hobbit watches Gandalf worriedly as he mutters to himself. “This was their plan all along. Azog engages our warriors and then Bolg sweeps in from the north with reinforcements once our forces are worn down. We thought it was a battle but it's a war of attrition and we can't hope to win it now.”  
  
“North? Which way is north exactly?” Bilbo asks and his heart leaps into his throat when Gandalf points at Raven Hill. “What?! But Thorin is up there and Fíli and Kíli; they're all up there!”  
  
“We must warn them,” Gandalf says before dashing off through the streets of Dale with Bilbo, Legolas, and Tauriel on his heels. The wizard searches the city until he finds Thranduil near the marketplace.  
  
“Thranduil!” he shouts to draw the elf’s attention. “You must gather your warriors and send them to Raven Hill! There is an army of Gundabad orcs marching on the Lonely Mountain and we must warn Thorin! Warn him and then take refuge inside of Erebor until more help arrives.”  
  
Thranduil does not answer him at first; he just turns and looks at the wizard blankly. The elf king is standing amongst his dead, his sword covered in blood and his face made old by grief.  
  
“Father, we must go. We cannot allow the orcs to win,” Legolas says, adding his voice to Gandalf’s. But Thranduil just shakes his head.  
  
“No.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“No. Too many elves have died to protect that mountain,” the elf king tells his son. “I am done. This fight is not ours and we are returning to the forest. Thorin can deal with the orcs of Gundabad himself.”  
  
“You cannot do that!” Gandalf exclaims. “What about your allies?”  
  
“My allies?” Thranduil scoffs. “These dwarves are not my allies. Dáin has killed almost as many elves as Azog in his day and Thorin has never been a friend of mine. The Lakemen, yes. Bard offered me an alliance and his people are welcome to take refuge within Mirkwood until the fight is done. Though I doubt that many men survive.”  
  
With that, the elf king spins on his heel and stalks off, shouting for his warriors to regroup. Legolas and Tauriel run after him and Bilbo can hear them arguing, trying to convince Thranduil to change his mind. But even if they succeed, the hobbit’s companions don’t have that kind of time.  
  
“If he won’t help, then I’ll go,” Bilbo says to Gandalf. “I’ll warn Thorin and the others while you go to Dáin.”  
  
“Don't be ridiculous. You'll never make it,”  
  
“Why not?” the hobbit asks a little sharply; the wizard’s blatant disbelief is enough to make him scowl.  
  
“They'll see you coming and they'll kill you,” Gandalf protests and seriously, where was that concern two months ago? Bilbo is only here because the wizard decided that he was supposed to be a burglar; if he’s sneaky enough to face a dragon, he can cross a battlefield.  
  
“No, they won’t. They won’t see me,” Bilbo says. No one can see the hobbit when he puts on his magic ring and even orcs can’t kill what they can’t find.  
  
“It's out of the question. I won't allow it.”  
  
“I'm not asking you to allow it, Gandalf,” the burglar says with a sigh. “I don’t need your permission to help my friends and I am going to Raven Hill. You can do what you like.”  
  
Bilbo ducks into the next alley while the wizard is still gaping at him. He pulls his ring from his pocket and then slips it on his finger, his gut twisting when the world goes grey again. Every time the hobbit does this, the sense of wrongness – of loss – only increases, but Bilbo puts his misgivings out of his mind for now. Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin are counting on their burglar to give them warning and he can’t afford to fail.  
  
The hobbit runs through the streets of Dale, dodging around his allies and enemies alike. Both elves and orcs glow strangely in his otherworldly vision, the latter with darkness and the former with bright light. Indeed, they are twisted mirrors of each other and Bilbo is glad when he finally reaches open ground.  
  
The burglar sprints across the battlefield to Raven Hill, the stone stairs up to the hilltop slick beneath his feet. But his pace never falters and his ring seems to fight off the exhaustion that should be on his heels.  
  
Somehow Bilbo knows exactly where he’s going; the hobbit can almost see Fíli and Kíli pulling him forward, the brightness of their spirits acting as his guiding star. He cannot truly sense them – not as he thought he could in Erebor, not as some deeper feeling says he should – but he knows that he can find them. Bilbo could find the princes anywhere but he runs into their uncle first.  
  
Thorin and Dwalin are standing back-to-back against half a dozen goblins, the pile of corpses around the dwarves testifying to the battle they have fought. The pair defeats their last few enemies as Bilbo dashes closer and the hobbit has just removed his ring when a point of fire suddenly ignites in his right shoulder. For a second, Bilbo thinks that he's been stabbed but when he turns around, no one is behind him and he is not bleeding when he looks. Indeed, there is a strange echo to the pain, like there was when he thought about Kíli's injury, and while the hobbit isn't sure what's going on, he knows this can’t be good.  
  
“Thorin!” the burglar shouts as he shoves his ring back in his pocket.  
  
“Bilbo?! What are you doing here?”  
  
The dwarf lord reaches out for Bilbo and then pauses, his face twisting with remorse. “Oh my love, I am so sorry for what I tried to do.”  
  
Bilbo has longed to hear those words ever since the dwarf lord turned against him, dragon sickness twisting admiration into burning avarice, and perhaps there will be hope for their future after all. But this isn't the time to have that conversation so the burglar just waves off Thorin's apology.  
  
“It's all right; it doesn't matter,” Bilbo says before he pauses. “Actually, it _does_ matter; it matters quite a lot and we will be talking about this later, I promise you. But there's an army of Gundabad orcs marching on the Lonely Mountain and we are standing in their way.”  
  
“What?!” Thorin asks, the penitent lover replaced by the warrior king again. “Azog tricked us! We have spent our strength against his army and now Bolg sweeps down from the north to kill us all. This is a trap!”  
  
Almost on cue, a rumbling noise begins in the far tower, a drumming that echoes across the stony tor and makes the dwarf lord's face go pale.  
  
“Fíli and Kíli! Call them back!” Thorin tells Dwalin and Bilbo feels a flash of panic when he realizes what the dwarf lord's order means. His princes are alone with their uncle's greatest enemy.  
  
 _My princes?_ Bilbo doesn't know where that thought came from. Kíli and Fíli belong only to each other and he knows that. But before he can do more than wonder what the hell he's thinking, movement at the top of the watch tower makes his blood run cold.  
  
Because Azog has just walked into view and he's dragging Fíli, the hobbit's shoulder throbbing with every step the pale orc takes. The dwarf is struggling against Azog's grip but he's too weak to break free and when he sees Thorin, Dwalin and Bilbo watching, his heart stutters painfully.  
  
“Run!” Fíli shouts down to the trio. If he is going to die here, he doesn't want his kin to see it. The prince doesn't want Bilbo to watch as Azog kills him; the hobbit will feel his death already and he doesn't need that memory. Indeed, Fíli is almost glad that their bond is weaker than it should be. His brother's panic already flutters like a trapped bird inside his chest and given the choice, he would spare both of amrâbulnâs this agony.  
  
Fíli knows that his death will probably destroy Kíli; even if the archer survives the shock, he's bound to get himself killed in a grief-mad frenzy afterward. The older prince isn't the only one that Azog plans to slaughter and this thought sends Fíli scrabbling for a blade again. The orcs stripped him clean when he was captured but perhaps they'd missed one in their haste to bring him here.  
  
So the prince checks each sheath with searching fingers – back, wrist, waist, and arm – but each comes up empty and he cannot reach the rest with his right arm still hanging useless at his side. However, it seems that the Valar are watching over their child after all. Because the pale orc decides to gloat; Azog lifts his captive high over the edge of the tower, nothing but empty air beneath his feet.  
  
It's a long, long drop, but Fíli doesn't care. For when the dwarf twists in Azog's grip, his searching hand meets steel. The orcs missed his second boot dagger, the tiny blade a wedding gift from Kíli, and while it is not a large weapon, the knife is razor sharp.  
  
Indeed, the edge cuts Azog deeply when Fíli slashes at his hand and the Defiler releases his captive as he rears back in shock. The prince lands hard on the stone, his momentum nearly taking him over the edge of the tower before he manages to stop. There are at least ten orcs between Fíli and the stairs, not to mention Azog, but the dwarf is preparing to give it his best effort when he hears his brother shout.  
  
“Jump, Fíli!” Kíli yells from somewhere far below him and as always, he obeys.  
  
The prince throws himself backwards off the ledge just as Azog lunges forward, the pale orc missing Fíli's arm by a hair's breadth. They're so close, close enough that he can see the hate burning in the pale orc's yellow eyes, and the dwarf doesn't even think before letting his last weapon fly.  
  
The dagger leaves his hand and goes exactly where he sent it, appearing as if by magic in the Defiler's right eye. Azog lets out a hoarse bellow, his roar echoing off the stone while his orcs watch in shock. The last thing Fíli sees before he falls out of sight is the pale orc stumbling toward him with blood streaming down his face. It shouldn't be a killing blow but at least the prince has left his own mark on his family's greatest enemy.  
  
Of course, Fíli is still falling and the wind rushes past his ears as he tumbles through the air. The ground is coming fast and the dwarf has no way to slow his descent, the tower walls too far away to reach. He can only trust that Kíli will be there to catch him when he hits the ground again.  
  
He does trust his brother even though there is as much worry as reassurance flowing through their bond right now. Because his amrâbulnas has never let him down when it truly mattered and indeed, Fíli feels the warmth of his brother's arms close around him before the momentum of his fall slams them both into the ground.  
  
If they'd been men instead of dwarves, the impact probably would have killed them but Mahal's children are made of stouter stuff. While both of them will be seriously bruised tomorrow, Fíli doesn't think the damage will be permanent. Not that he can feel anything other than the fire in his shoulder since hitting the ground at speed did not help his injury. So the dwarf lets himself rest in Kíli's arms for a moment, taking strength from his brother's clear relief.  
  
“I've got you; I've got you,” Kíli is murmuring into the older prince's hair, his voice shaking audibly. “You're all right. I've got yo- Shit!”  
  
Fíli bites back a cry of pain as his brother suddenly rolls them to the side and _something_ slams into the stone where they had lain. It's Azog the Defiler, his mouth wide open in a snarl and his pale skin stained with blood.  
  
“Holy fuck!” Kíli whispers, the curse summing up the situation nicely. Fíli doesn't know whether it was his dagger or the fall that killed the pale orc, but the Defiler is as dead as dead can be.  
  
“We need to move,” Fíli says after a long pause. “Azog's orcs are bound to try to avenge their leader soon and I'm in no shape to fight. But I saw Thorin from the tower. He was on the other side of the lake with Bilbo and Dwalin and they're probably on their way to find us now.”  
  
“Bilbo? When did he...?” Kíli starts to ask before shaking his head. “You know what, never mind, that's not important now. Let's go find our uncle and our hobbit; if they saw you fall off the tower then they're probably worried sick. Seriously, Fí, never do that again.”  
  
“You know it wasn't intentional. But I promise that I'll try,” the prince tells his brother. “Of course, speaking of promises... didn't you say that you were going to get Thorin? I thought I told you to run.”  
  
“And I told you that I was coming back in five minutes,” Kíli retorts. “I was hardly going to leave you there once I felt your injury and you're lucky that I stopped. Someone had to catch your heavy ass before you hit the ground.”  
  
The archer gives his amrâbulnas a quick flash of grin before finally struggling to his feet. He holds out a hand to help Fíli stand but the older prince nearly crumples to the stone when his left knee refuses to support his weight. He must have banged it on the ground when he landed and while he doesn't think the bone is broken, moving with any speed will be difficult.  
  
So Fíli doesn't protest when Kíli steps in to take his weight, one strong arm wrapping around his brother's waist. The archer doesn't like to see his amrâbulnas so sorely wounded and his only thought now is to reach his uncle's side before any more orcs attack.  
  
However, Kíli pauses by Azog’s body when Fíli asks him to, the older prince leaning down to remove his dagger from the pale orc’s eye. The Defiler is truly dead this time, his body torn and broken and his spirit fled back to whatever fell place spawned a monster such as this. He will not trouble the sons of Durin any longer and Fíli rips the necklace of fangs from Azog's neck before straightening again.  
  
The prince will show this prize to Thorin when they are reunited, a trophy to prove his kill. Then the dwarves continue toward the frozen lake, Kíli keeping one wary eye behind them as his brother limps along.  
  
Meanwhile, Thorin is making his own way across the lake, his heart worried sick about his sister-sons. He'd started running as soon as Fíli fell but despite his worry, the dwarf is proud as well. Thorin had seen his sister-son strike Azog and he knows that whatever his fate, Fíli did not go down easily.  
  
The dwarf lord's heir has done his family proud, far prouder than Thorin has in the last few days, and if anyone deserves the Valar's grace, it's him. Now that his mind is clear, Fíli and Kíli are as dear to the dwarf lord as any sons could be and he does not dare to hope that both of them survived. Thorin just runs toward the tower as fast as the icy lake allows, caution sacrificed for speed  
  
“Kíli! Fíli!” Thorin shouts, Dwalin and Bilbo adding their own voices to his cry. “Answer me, my sister-sons. Where are you?”  
  
Every second without an answer makes his heart beat faster and he nearly faints with relief when he finally hears a reply.  
  
“Uncle!” The shout comes from deeper in the ruins. “Uncle, over here!”  
  
Thorin rounds a crumbling wall and sees his sister-sons limping toward him, Kíli clearly holding most of his brother's weight. However, while Fíli is bruised and bloody, his right sleeve dripping scarlet on the stone, he is alive and that is the only thing his uncle cares about right now.  
  
“Thorin. Uncle. I am pleased to tell you that your enemy is dead,” Fíli says, holding out a necklace of fangs in his left hand.  
  
But the dwarf lord ignores the offering even as part of his mind registers the words with wonder and surprise. He just steps forward and wraps his arms around Fíli and Kíli's shoulders, holding them tight and whispering, “My sister-sons, I am so very glad that you're all right.”  
  
Thorin cannot believe that he was willing to sacrifice their lives for treasure only a few hours past. Fíli and Kíli are worth more than all the gold in Azsâlul'abad; worth more than the Arkenstone as well. That jewel is the proof of Thorin's kingship but his sister-sons are his future and he wants nothing more than to see both dwarrows thrive.  
  
Fíli and Kíli return their uncle's hug as fiercely, the three dwarves huddling together until Dwalin mutters, “Aw hell, laddies,” and throws his arms around them all.  
  
The warrior pulls Bilbo with him, the hobbit tucking himself between Thorin and Fíli with a quiet, “I am happy you're alive. But there is another army coming and we should probably all run.”  
  
This is a sentiment with which his companions can agree wholeheartedly. Azog's death will not turn aside his reinforcements and indeed, the dwarves' embrace is shortly interrupted when a pack of orcs scale the northern wall.  
  
“Guard your brother,” Thorin orders Kíli as he and Dwalin move to engage their enemies. He's pleased to see that Bilbo stays by the princes without prompting; the hobbit is brave but he is no warrior and the dwarf lord does not wish to test the Valar's mercy by risking one he loves.  
  
Of course, Thorin shortly discovers that Bilbo has no intention of standing on the sidelines like some helpless damsel. The burglar picks up a chunk of stone, throwing it past Thorin's ear to knock an orc straight off its feet. Indeed, both Fíli and Bilbo make good use of the rubble that surrounds them, Fíli's left-handed throws not as accurate as the hobbit's but quite brutal when they hit.  
  
Meanwhile, Kíli is keeping one eye on the battle while he patches up his brother's wounds as best he can. The older prince still won't be moving quickly but at least he won't pass out from blood loss and the tight knot of pain in the archer's chest has eased.  
  
Once he's finished with his bandages, Kíli joins the hobbit in chucking stones and rocks at their enemies, cursing his empty the whole time. But between the five of them, the first wave of orcs falls quickly and the prince dares to think that they might win this battle yet.  
  
“Look out!”  
  
Fíli's shout comes a hair too late as Bolg leaps down from one of the tower's upper levels and tackles Thorin onto the frozen lake. The dwarf lord lands hard and the impact makes him drop his sword, forcing him to dodge frantically when the orc raises his weapon high.  
  
“Uncle!” Kíli screams, grabbing the mace from a nearby corpse and chucking it right at Bolg's head. His aim is good despite the awkward weight and the weapon knocks the orc off balance so that Thorin can grab his sword again. But when Kíli looks around for another missile, there’s simply nothing left to throw. Not in his reach anyway, leaving the prince torn between going to help his uncle and standing by his amrâbulnâs to keep them both from harm.  
  
So Kíli hesitates until Fíli grabs his arm.  
  
“Go! We are not defenseless and Dwalin will be finished with those orcs soon enough,” the blond dwarf says.  
  
When his brother still wavers, Fíli continues, “And I promise to scream really loudly if we need your help.”  
  
“All right, it's a deal,” the younger prince agrees with a faint chuckle. He knocks his forehead into Fíli's and nearly does the same to Bilbo before he remembers that he doesn't have the right. Instead, Kíli simply pats the hobbit on his shoulder before pulling out his sword.  
  
By now Thorin has reached his feet once more, he and Bolg trading strikes in the center of the lake. Neither has been able to gain the advantage and the archer fully intends to tip the balance toward his side.  
  
However, before Kíli can reach his uncle, another wave of orcs pours onto the ice and the prince finds himself rather occupied. He can't allow these orcs to help Bolg against Thorin but the frozen ground makes the battle difficult. Every time the archer dodges, his feet threaten to slip out from underneath him and he's already lost part of his sleeve to one near miss.  
  
Although the orcs aren't faring any better, they have the advantage of numbers and Kíli isn't killing them fast enough. Not when two more orcs appear for every one left bleeding on the ice and the prince's arm is beginning to shake with weariness.  
  
Thorin is managing little better when Kíli dares a glance over his shoulder, both Erebor’s king and his nemesis bleeding from half a dozen wounds. A stab of concern makes the archer falter for a moment, that brief hesitation nearly costing him his life. The prince barely manages to throw himself to the ground when he catches a burst of movement in the corner of his eye.  
  
The mace whistles over his head harmlessly but another orc is upon Kíli before he can regain his feet, a cruel sword slamming hard into his blade. Although he tries, the dwarf doesn't have the strength to shove the monster off him, the orc's weapon sliding toward his throat inch by inch.  
  
Kíli can't help a burst of panic when he realizes that he might truly die here and while his brother answers, he knows that Fíli will never reach his side in time. However, just before the archer's strength fails completely, the orc suddenly stumbles back with an arrow in his chest. Kíli takes advantage of the opening, scrambling to his feet and looking around wildly for another enemy.  
  
Orcs are dropping all around them and when the archer traces the arrows' path, he sees an elf standing on a tower near the edge of Raven Hill. Although Kíli isn't certain at this distance, he thinks the elf is Legolas. The archer can't imagine what Thranduil's son is doing here; Kíli last saw him riding off with Tauriel and indeed, when the dwarf looks around, he sees the elfine on another tower top.  
  
These two seem to be making a habit of rescuing the line of Durin and whatever the reason for it, Kíli is glad to have the help. Indeed, with his new allies raining death down from above, the dwarf soon clears the ice of enemies. Only Bolg remains, the orc wounded but refusing to fall and the archer knows that they're running out of time.  
  
The princes and their companions need to kill Bolg and escape Raven Hill before it's overrun, gathering the surviving dwarves, elves, and Lakemen before regrouping inside the protection of the Lonely Mountain's walls. A protracted siege is their only chance of survival and while the orcs would be difficult to outrun considering Fíli's injuries, Kíli will carry his brother if he must.  
  
Live or die together, that is the promise of amrâbulnâs and the princes have already broken that oath far too often on this quest.  
  
However, just as Kíli lunges toward Bolg, the dwarf hears a piercing cry and he looks up to see a flock of eagles soaring overhead. The birds are coming from the west and the archer thinks he can see that strange brown wizard and Beorn riding on their backs as the eagles fly to meet their enemies.  
  
The skin-changer stares down at the sea of orcs with a hungry smile, the bear shifting restlessly underneath his skin. He did not lie when he told Thorin Oakenshield that he hated orcs far more than dwarves; Beorn despises orcs far more than anything. Azog the Defiler had taken him and chained him and made him watch as his kin were skinned and slaughtered and the coming battle fills the skin-changer with anticipation now.  
  
It is time for the orcs of Moria to feel his people's vengeance and Beorn throws himself from his eagle's back with a roar. He shifts while still midair, the bear landing in the midst of the orcish army and laying about with teeth and claws.  
  
There is no strategy to his attacks. There's simply a litany of _prey, bleed, eat, death, prey,_ but the skin-changer does not need strategy to decimate his foes. All the bear needs is size and strength and fury, Beorn roaring out a challenge that echoes all the way to Erebor.  
  
At the sound, Bolg breaks away from Thorin and runs to the edge of the cliff. The orc lets out a furious bellow when he sees the damage that the eagles and the skin-changer are doing to his army, what should have been his greatest triumph turning to a bitter rout instead. His sudden shift in fortune leaves him reeling and Thorin takes advantage of his enemy's despair.  
  
The dwarf lord rushes forward while Bolg is still focused on the eagles. He raises his sword and leaps high into the air, bringing down the blade with a shout. The blow splits the orc's skull almost in twain, the monster taking two wild swings and then collapsing on the ice.  
  
Bolg is dead, the bloodline of Azog ended. But Kíli only cares about his uncle, the prince's heart leaping into his mouth when Thorin drops to one knee with a groan. Bolg's last swing caught the dwarf lord in the shoulder and his face is tight with pain when his sister-son rushes to his side. However, Thorin is quick to reassure Kíli that the injury is not serious, pushing himself back to his feet with a wince.  
  
The pair is soon joined by Dwalin, Bilbo, Fíli, Tauriel, and Legolas, the elves having helped the dwarves chase the last few orcs off Raven Hill. Indeed, wherever Thorin looks, his foes have been routed, the few surviving orcs fleeing toward the north. It will be many years before those foul creatures can trouble the free peoples of Middle Earth again, their courage shattered with the deaths of Azog and his kin.  
  
Indeed, this day will long be remembered as the day that the Sigin-tarâg won back the Lonely Mountain. The day that Azsâlul'abad began her rise to glory once again.  
  
But first the dwarves and their allies must bury the dead and heal the wounded and Thorin knows that this victory did not come without great cost. Yet his sister-sons did not pay for his kingdom with their lives and for that, the dwarf lord is sincerely grateful. He sends the Valar his thanks and then repeats them when they return to the plain and discover that Dáin and his companions live as well.  
  
Thorin's cousin has already gathered his surviving warriors together, most of the dwarves separating friend from foe amongst the fallen while those trained as healers do their work. There are several healers amongst the dwarves, but it is Óin whom Thorin calls over to treat Fíli's wounds. The dwarf lord trusts his heir only to his kin; Óin will see that the elder prince has no more than scars to show for the battle they have fought.  
  
Kíli stays with his brother, unwilling to leave his amrâbulnas when death came so close to claiming both their lives. Indeed, his uncle cannot blame him so he claps his sister-son on the shoulder and promises to return as soon as possible before he leaves them in Óin's capable hands.  
  
Bilbo and Dwalin fall into step behind Thorin as he makes his way to Dale to speak with Bard and Thranduil. The dwarf lord is not looking forward to this conversation but now that the lust for gold no longer clouds his mind, Thorin recognizes that they will need to work together to restore what has been lost. A difficult proposition to be sure and one that will be made that much harder by the dwarf lord's recent actions, though Thorin does not believe that he was completely in the wrong.  
  
However, even if his allies do not deserve the gold he promised, it is time to put the hatreds of the past behind him and there are more important things in life than his grandfather's treasure hoard. The dwarf lord has Fíli and Kíli, home and hearth and a place for the Sigin-tarâg to prosper, and perhaps even Bilbo, his hobbit still with him even though Thorin wronged him greatly atop the Lonely Mountain's gates.  
  
The dwarf lord truly regrets his actions on the ramparts and he can only hope that Bilbo will give him a chance to make things right. Because his feelings have not changed; if anything his heart has grown more certain and he sincerely believes that Bilbo would be a fine consort for a king.  
  
The hobbit's presence helps Thorin keep his temper during the negotiations with his allies, reminding him that a share of Thrór's treasure is a small price to pay for peace. The gold within Azsâlul'abad may be the birthright of his people but their lives are more important and it will take more than a couple greedy kings to empty out that hoard.  
  
So the dwarf agrees to uphold the bargain that Bard offered: the return of the Arkenstone in exchange for the gold that Thorin promised Laketown. He will aid the men of Dale until their city is rebuilt and Thranduil will do the same for the Sigin-tarâg if they return the gems of Lasgalen.  
  
Thorin has no use for jewelry and this gift will help to ease the rift that exists between their peoples, the rift the dwarf lord helped to cause. Indeed, Dáin and Thranduil will probably never see each other with anything but hatred; they’ve spilled too much blood for that. But the elf king has softened slightly at his son’s insistence; while he does not like the dwarves, he will not cause another war.  
  
Better for their kingdoms to prosper together, the past ignored if not forgiven and the corpse of Smaug the Terrible shared out evenly. Thorin has agreed to trade Smaug’s forearm for the dragon’s head and he plans to mount the monster’s horns on his throne as a reminder of what awaits those dwarves who dig too deep.  
  
 _Perhaps Kíli will make a decent leader after all,_ the dwarf lord thinks. His younger sister-son may be impulsive but Bard seems to respect him and Thorin is now able to recognize that Kíli made his offer honestly. The archer only wanted to help and his gift did more for Azsâlul'abad than Thorin has so far.  
  
The negotiations go far more smoothly than they might have without the dragon’s corpse to offer and when the bargaining is finally finished, the King Under the Mountain offers his hand to the Kings of Dale and Mirkwood. The rulers seal their new alliance with a handshake and they part as comrades if not friends.  
  
However, it is not the opinion of his allies that matters most to Thorin; it is the opinion of the hobbit standing at his side. Bilbo gives him a proud smile on their way out of Dale and this gives the dwarf lord the courage to touch him on the arm.  
  
“May we speak?” he asks, waving Dwalin onward so that he and Bilbo are alone.  
  
“Now? Is this really the best time?”  
  
“I fear this may be the only time that I have in the near future and I would know where we stand,” Thorin tells him honestly.  
  
“All right then,” Bilbo agrees after a moment. “But only if you let the healers look at you when we're finished. You may not be dying but there's no need for you to walk about in pain. Suffering needlessly doesn't prove your toughness to anyone.”  
  
“As you wish,” the dwarf lord replies, his heart warmed by the hobbit's blunt concern. This is one of the reasons that he wants Bilbo with him; the burglar has never let the difference in their status stop him from speaking the truth when necessary and Thorin needs more frankness in his life.  
  
“I am truly sorry, Bilbo. I have never regretted anything as much as I regret my words and deed upon the gates,” the dwarf lord says. “So please, will you tell me... is there any chance for us? Do you think you can ever forgive me for my actions? I will happily spend the rest of our lives proving my true feelings if I must.”  
  
“It's not a matter of forgiveness,” the hobbit replies. “I still love you, Thorin, and I know that you would never have tried to hurt me if you had not been ill. But you tried to kill me even if those actions born from dragon sickness. You tried to kill me twice and I don't know if I can trust that you will not try again. I don't know if I can stay here, never knowing if the gold beneath the mountain will steal your heart from me.”  
  
In all honesty, Thorin hears, “I still love you,” and stops listening, the dwarf nearly overwhelmed by the force of his relief. If Bilbo loves him then they can fix this and he reaches out to take his hobbit by the hands.  
  
“Let me try, my love,” Thorin pleads. “Winter is upon us and you will not wish to travel once these lands are covered deep with ice and snow. Give me until spring to show you that we can still be happy and if I fail, we will part in friendship. You will always be welcome in my kingdom; that is my promise and my vow.”  
  
This is an easy promise for the dwarf to make since he is certain that he'll be able to win his burglar's trust again. After all, Thorin did it once already under far worse circumstances and now he has an actual home to offer. He can show the hobbit the life that he deserves if his beloved will only let him try.  
  
The dwarf lord waits anxiously as Bilbo considers his proposal and when the burglar finally nods, Thorin wants to sweep him into his arms and crow with happiness. But the dwarf knows that he must earn back that right so he simply leans down and kisses his hobbit on the cheek.  
  
“Thank you,” Thorin murmurs before straightening again. “Now, I believe I promised to seek the healers for my injuries.”  
  
Thorin sit patiently while Óin pokes and prods him, the hobbit's grateful smile well worth the inconvenience, and he must admit that his shoulder feels better once it's bandaged properly. Then the dwarf lord leaves Bilbo with Fíli and Kíli as he seeks out his cousin, needing to speak with Dáin and work out a strategy for the coming days. There is much to be done; Thorin cannot be crowned until all the dead are buried but Dáin's warrior brought only the supplies that they could carry and all of Azsâlul'abad's allies must be fed.  
  
Soon the dwarf lord is buried under a mountain of logistics and just as he expected, he and Bilbo have little time to speak. Thorin only sees Bilbo when he ducks into the healer's tent to check on his heir – Kíli and the hobbit conscripted into changing bandages and cleaning wounds since they will not leave Fíli's side.  
  
These encounters consist of little more than a smile and a nod as Bilbo and the dwarf lord pass each other by and Thorin will be sorely relieved when the chaos finally dies. His life will never be his own entirely but once the aftermath of the battle has been dealt with, he should be able to carve out some time for Bilbo here and there.  
  
Although, in truth, the hobbit is grateful for the chance to process everything that's happened before he and Thorin have too much time alone. Bilbo needs a chance to work through his emotions, the chance to feel angry and betrayed and frightened so that he can move on.  
  
Thankfully, there is plenty of work to keep the burglar busy. Just keeping Fíli entertained is a full time job. The elder prince has been ordered on bed rest until his knee heals enough to walk and he's honestly one of the worst patients that Bilbo has ever seen. Fíli has always seemed like the most sensible member of his family but when he's bored, the prince becomes far more like his younger brother after all.  
  
The dwarf keeps trying to sneak out and help his uncle until Kíli and Bilbo start trading shift to watch him all day long. Perhaps the hobbit should be annoyed by Fíli's stubbornness but he enjoys spending time with both of the princes and indeed, he feels far more settled when the brothers are nearby.  
  
The strange burst of elation that he felt in Erebor has become a softer hum of contentment, one that Bilbo does not notice consciously. If he's suddenly more aware of the crooked tilt to Kíli's smile or the warmth of Fíli's arm around his shoulders as he helps the prince to walk, the hobbit can explain that well enough. He nearly lost both the princes after all. Not only to the battle but to his theft of the Arkenstone and Bilbo is truly grateful that they let him explain. Indeed, he's been reminded of how much he cares about Fíli and Kíli and he considers them some of the best friends he's ever had.  
  
Bilbo will miss both dwarves dearly if he decides to return to the Shire, the barest thought of leaving making his heart twinge painfully. But the hobbit would not be leaving for good if he and Thorin are able to rebuild the trust between them and he does not want to think on the alternative.  
  
Instead, the burglar cajoles Kíli and Fíli into telling him about their parts of the battle and while the princes don't want to brag at first, Bilbo is persistent. Soon Fíli's capture is being reenacted with sticks and bandages, the dwarf's amrâbulnâs gasping over every injury.  
  
Then, of course, Kíli has to take his turn, speaking of Smaug's death in far more detail than he had before. He tells them about the wind-lance and Tauriel's assistance, which leads him to mention seeing Thranduil's son on Raven Hill. Fíli and Bilbo were too busy killing orcs to watch Thorin's duel with Bolg and so Kíli is forced to reenact that fight as well, his eyes bright when he recounts his uncle's bravery.  
  
Bolg, Azog, Smaug – the Sons of Durin have more than proved their courage – and Bilbo isn't the only one hanging on the princes' every word. Indeed, the other wounded in Óin's tent are just as bored as Fíli and the trio's stories gather quite an audience. The fact that Kíli and Fíli see nothing strange about their actions only makes the princes' deeds seem more impressive and as each warrior is discharged, word of their bravery spreads.  
  
Not that Fíli or Kíli realizes the furor they've been causing. The brothers can't see anything but Bilbo when he smiles at them and although the hobbit won't admit it, he feels much the same. However, even they must notice when one of Dáin's warriors greets the younger prince as “Dragonslayer” and Fíli is followed by whispers of “Azogsbane” when he's allowed to go outside.  
  
“Are they really calling me that?” the prince asks when the rest of Thorin's company comes to visit. Although Fíli had wanted to earn glory, his fight with Azog hadn't exactly been a triumph and only blind luck caused the Defiler to stumble to his doom.  
  
“Just accept it, Azogsbane,” Nori tells him with a grin. “You and your brother are legends now. The dwarves of the Iron Hills adore you, and even if it comes with a silly nickname, you shouldn't waste the goodwill that your deeds have bought.”  
  
“No, we don't intend to,” Fíli replies, glancing over at his amrâbulnâs. Kíli and Bilbo are deep in a discussion about the right way to tie off a roll of bandages and all he wants to do is pull them both into his arms. Even if the prince doesn't feel as though he deserves a title, he will not give up the future that such a name might buy him, and Kíli at least had earned his epithet.  
  
Indeed, the princes' quest seems to be working out perfectly. With such great deeds behind them, Thorin should have no reason to refuse his sister-sons' request. Once he is crowned the true King Beneath the Mountain, those who fought beside him will have the boon they seek.  
  
The Sigin-tarâg shall change forever and then Fíli and Kíli will finally be able to court their burglar. The princes will be able to complete their trinity without fear of execution or guilt about their uncle's broken heart; Thorin may have loved their hobbit, but that relationship was finished the moment that he laid his hand on Bilbo. Even if their uncle was sick at the time, their burglar can't possibly agree to stay with him after that. Not when Fíli and Kíli want _nothing_ more than to adore him for the remainder of his days.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more cliff hangers for at least a couple chapters :)


	15. Gamekhsasekh

One week after the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin Oakenshield is finally crowned as King Beneath the Mountain. The Arkenstone shines in pride of place above his throne while Bard and Thranduil offer their recognition and the dwarves of the Iron Hills swear allegiance to their rightful king. Even Dáin bows his head when Balin places a crown on Thorin's brow and a scepter in his hand.

The dwarf accepts their fealty and offers his own promise, the vow that every king must make and honor to the land he serves. Thorin means the words all the more for his past failures and when he sits down on his throne, he knows that he would give his life for every dwarrow here. Indeed, the king's eyes are suspiciously wet as he looks around his throne room and listens to the gathered peoples cheer. Then the King Under the Mountain holds up his hand for silence, waiting until his wish is granted before summoning the members of Thorin's company.

“My friends,” the dwarf king says when his companions stand before him, each word carried to the far corners of his hall. “You stood with me when no one else would answer and your bravery deserves the richest of rewards. Henceforth, you will be lords amongst the Sigin-tarâg, your pasts forgiven and your deeds honored by the bards. You will never know hunger as long as I have food to offer and you will always have a place here at my side. However, two of you have shown greater courage than even I could have expected. Step forth my sister-sons.”

Fíli and Kíli do as ordered, their hands clasped tightly and anticipation in their hearts.

“My people, my allies... I give you Kíli Dragonslayer and Fíli Azogsbane,” Thorin declares, the gathered dwarves, men, and even elves cheering loudly in response. “Tell me, my sister-sons, what boon do you ask in return for your great service? Anything that is in my power, I shall grant you now.”

The brothers trade a glance and then Fíli takes a step forward. If he has ever had a silver tongue, the dwarf prays that it will not fail him now.

“We did not fight at your side for riches, uncle, or even for the glory of our name. We fought for love of you and loyalty and I must speak of love right now,” the prince says, holding out his hands beseechingly. “There is only one boon that Kíli and I seek from the King Under the Mountain; we beg you to strike down the laws that govern amrâbulnâs and infidelity. Let our people marry where their hearts desire; let us follow Mahal's bonds in the manner of our choosing rather than the strictest law. Because I believe – _we_ believe – that love comes in many forms and crosses many boundaries, and if we are to build a brighter future, this should be recognized.”

Fíli's words ripple through his audience, the entire hall falling silent by the time he finishes. The watching dwarves cannot believe that Thorin's heir has dared to challenge the law that binds amrâbulnâs and while the elves and men do not understand what he is asking, they can tell it's serious.

Because the dwarves are watching Fíli with a mix of pride, hope, and betrayal, the latter from those who think that the current way is right. No one dares to speak as they look to their king's answer, fear and no small amount of anticipation in their eyes.

Thorin too is surprised by Fíli's request. His sister-sons are amrâbulnâs and he always believed that they were happy with the hand that Mahal dealt. While the dwarf lord has seen the cloth around their ankles, he's never truly thought about what might be hidden underneath. He's never truly wondered if they carried false karrash.

_Have my sister-sons been pining for some stranger all their lives,_ Thorin wonders. _Have they secretly been miserable, putting aside their heartache to do their duty and see our people home?_

The dwarf lord has no answers. He may be the King Under the Mountain but he does not feel qualified to judge his heir's request. Because Thorin has no karashumrâb of his own. He does not know the call of the ashânumahâl and so how can he say whether Fíli's boon is wrong?

_I shall have to trust them,_ Thorin decides, staring down at his sister-sons' hopeful faces. _I know that Fíli and Kíli truly love each other and I know they love our people; they would not ask for something that would break the Sigin-tarâg. Honestly, if amrâbulnâs cannot hurt each other willingly then why do we need a law to keep them faithful? Why shouldn't a pair who are unable to bear children find a third to join them? Why should long-married spouses have to separate when one receives their marking late? What difference can it make when so few dwarves choose to marry anyway?_

Indeed, on further thought, Fíli and Kíli's request could help Thorin's plans as well. He is a king now, his rightful place reclaimed, and some might object to his courtship of a hobbit. Some might think that Bilbo is beneath him or that he should marry a dwarrowdam who might give him children but if Thorin phrases his decree correctly, he can kill such challenges before they ever come to light.

“I must admit, I was expecting something far more tangible,” Thorin says with a smile for his sister-sons. “But you have earned my favor fairly and I shall grant the boon you seek. As the King of the Sigin-tarâg and the Lord of Seven Kingdoms, rightfully crowned beneath the mountain and the shining Arkenstone, I decree that all dwarves may love and marry as they wish from this moment on. The law will no longer count any love as criminal, whether binding one or many, whether marked by Mahal or marked by none at all. Dwarves and other races, kings and commoners: from now on all of Durin's Folk may seek their hearts' desires without consequence as long as all parties involved are willing and of the age to consent.

“So I decree and so it is done.”

A simple phrase but one that strikes the gathered dwarves like lightning and Balin signals the court scribes to copy Thorin's edict down. These scrolls will be sent to every dwarven kingdom on soaring raven's wing, telling all of Mahal's twice-marked children that they are finally free.

Here in the throne room, the mood is turning fast toward jubilation. Although some of the traditionalists are grumbling angrily, there is far more joy than fury in their people's eyes. For better or worse, Thorin has changed their society forever and Nori is the first to speak his mind.

“Fucking finally,” the dwarf says before taking two steps forward and grabbing Dwalin by the coat. He pulls the warrior into a heated kiss as Dori and Ori smile widely and most of their companions look on in surprise. Perhaps the youngest dwarf should have been jealous of his brother, particularly when Dori starts to mutter about weddings underneath his breath. But all Ori feels is honest joy as the lingering ache in his husband’s heart finally disappears.

Nori isn't the only one taking action, ripples of movement spreading through Dáin's warriors as dwarves the law had kept apart now reach out instead. Many, many dwarves since multiple ashânumahâl and other oddities were apparently far more common amongst Mahal’s children than anyone had guessed. Even Dáin quietly thanks Thorin, the dwarf lord's cousin revealing a band of runes around his wrist that no one had known about. 

“I love my wife,” Dáin explains when Thorin looks at him in question. “I married her because I love her and it did not seem right to set her aside just because Mahal decided to bond me to another more than halfway through my life. But now that you have changed the law, I can seek out my amrâbulnas. I can marry the loves of my heart and of my spirit if they will both agree.”

Thorin has no response to that. He never would have guessed that Dáin was bonded and he certainly never thought that Nori and Dwalin were interested in each other. The dwarf lord always believed that Dwalin barely tolerated his husband's older brother but now it seems that he was wrong.

Indeed, judging by the commotion in his throne room, Fíli and Kíli were right to ask for clemency. Nearly a quarter of Dáin's surviving warriors have paired off in twos and threes while another quarter have declared their intentions to seek out new amrâbulnâs when they are home again. Azsâlul'abad's reclamation will truly be a cause for celebration amongst the dwarf lord's people and he takes this as a good omen for the future of his crown.

However, as pleased as Thorin is to see his kindred happy, it is his hobbit with whom he truly wants to speak right now. He wants to explain that he changed the law to help secure their future, hoping to bend the odds in his favor as much as possible before his burglar decides.

But when Thorin looks around the throne room, he doesn't see the hobbit. Bilbo must have slipped away during the commotion that followed his proclamation, not realizing that his proper place is still at the dwarf king's side.

So Thorin regains his people's attention with a sharp rap on the stone before bringing his coronation ceremony to a close. He thanks his allies for their support and offers them his hospitality, inviting dwarves, elves, and men together to partake in a feast. For a ruler cannot have a proper coronation without food to offer and Thorin's people managed to whip up something suitable with Mirkwood's help. The dwarf lord's guests will feast on Smaug the Terrible among other offerings, his flanks seasoned and roasted to perfection so that Azsâlul'abad does not dishonor her new king.

Once his guests are on their way to the grand feast hall, Thorin goes in search of Bilbo. The dwarf finds his hobbit in one of the throne room's many side passages and he's about to draw Bilbo's attention when someone else speaks first.

“Bilbo! There you are!” Fíli calls as he and his brother enter the tunnel from the opposite direction. Instinctively, Thorin steps back into a shadowed alcove, though the dwarf lord isn't entirely sure why he doesn't step into the light instead; he's not in the habit of spying on his kindred without dragon sickness to breed paranoia in his mind.

And yet...

Fíli and Kíli are smiling at Bilbo, looking at the hobbit with expressions that Thorin has only seen them give each other, and the dwarf lord feels a sudden chill run down his spine. Perhaps there was more to his sister-sons' request than he'd believed.

So Thorin stays hidden when he might still have spoken, watching as his hobbit greets the princes with a smile of his own.

“You caused quite a stir out there,” Bilbo says, waving one hand toward the throne room. “I have to admit, I'm a little fuzzy on the details. I thought Aulë only bonded dwarves in pairs – like you and Kíli – so the laws against infidelity protected you from outside interference rather than some need to stray. But it's hardly my place to question your traditions and everyone seems happy so I guess you must have done something good today.”

“I'm glad you think so. And the situation was actually far more complicated,” Fíli tells him. “The law only allowed couples who have wrist marks to marry but the ashânumahâl has never been that straightforward. Many dwarves are pulled in multiple directions – like Dwalin with Nori and Ori – but were forced to choose only one beloved or risk death by choosing all. Dwarvish law allows no leeway for interpretation and our lords must enforce all edicts no matter what the cost.”

“Oh, I didn't know that,” their burglar replies. “That doesn't seem very fair.”

“It wasn't. That's why our people are so happy. But dwarvish law can only be changed by a true dwarven king so no one could do anything until Thorin had been crowned.”

“And you're wrong, you know. It is your place to question,” Kíli adds softly. “You are as affected by this change as any dwarrow born.”

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asks, looking at the archer quizzically. “Your uncle isn't bonded to anyone. I made sure of that.”

“He isn't. But you are,” Fíli replies and Thorin feels his stomach drop. “We couldn't tell you before now; we couldn't risk the consequences if uncle wouldn't change the law. Not when you would have faced execution at our side. However, we can tell you now. Kíli and I can finally say that we have never been a pair. We are a trinity, Bilbo, and you're our missing piece. The one we searched for for so long.”

“What? But... but that's impossible,” Bilbo stammers. “I'm a hobbit! We don't have grand destinies. Honestly, I'd never even heard of the Valar bonding people until you came along.”

Fíli's claim is preposterous. Bilbo is no one special and hobbits fall in love like normal folk, with romance, heartbreak, and negotiation instead of Valar signs. Yavanna does not meddle in her children's futures and yet Bilbo cannot dismiss the prince's words outright.

Because he had felt a connection during their flight from Smaug when Fíli touched his hand and there had been flickers of _something_ even earlier than that. He had been drawn to the princes from the beginning – if he's being honest, he'd thought them quite attractive until he forced himself to stop – and when the hobbit was younger, he always had a feeling that his real life was waiting somewhere beyond the Shire's bounds.

“Seriously. I can't be your bonded. I don't have a mark,” Bilbo protests, not entirely sure if the words are true or not. There is his birthmark – his strange half-forgotten birthmark could be a symbol of some grand destiny together or it could mean nothing – and either way the hobbit doesn't know what he should do. Bilbo does love Thorin, he is certain of it, but the burglar also cares about the dwarf lord's sister-sons as well.

“You may not carry our names but both of us bear yours,” Kíli tells their hobbit. “We have carried your name since the day that you were born.”

The archer slips off his boot and lifts his trousers, showing Bilbo the words that he's kept hidden for five decades. _Bilbo Baggins,_ his ankle reads in shining script and the burglar has no response to that. He can only stare at his name in shock.

“We aren't lying, Bilbo,” Fíli says, showing his own mark to the hobbit. “We would not lie to you. It killed us to stay silent when we found you and only the danger to your life kept us strong. But now that threat is gone. We can court you without fear and that is all we ask. Please, Bilbo, let us court you. We know that you have feelings for our uncle but you have made no promises and he hasn't been treating you the way a lover should.”

“It's not his fault,” Bilbo replies a bit defensively, snapped out of his stupor by the slight to Thorin's name. “He was sick and I told him that I'd give him another chance.”

“You what?!” Kíli starts and Thorin can't help but wince at the outrage in his voice. If his sister-sons are truly Bilbo's amrâbulnâs then he can understand the archer's fury – indeed, the dwarf lord can barely imagine what it cost for him to keep their loyalty.

“We are not asking you to break your word. We are only asking you to give us the same chance you're giving Thorin,” Fíli says, quieting his brother with a firm hand on his arm. “Let us prove our adoration before you make your final choice. All we want is a fair chance to show you just how happy we could be.”

The hobbit doesn't answer. He can't answer because he doesn't know what he should say. Bilbo doesn’t want to hurt the princes, he truly doesn't, but he's hardly going to throw himself into their arms and say that it's okay. Even if Thorin wasn't in the picture, destiny is not how hobbits do things and Bilbo cannot trust the Valar's choice that easily.

“You don't have to decide right now,” Fíli says eventually, the swirling confusion flickering through their bond pushing him to speak. Although the princes had been hoping for a more positive reaction, this must seem rather sudden from Bilbo's point of view. “We just wanted to tell you the truth now that we finally can. So take as long as you need, Bilbo; we've waited fifty years for this and we can wait a little longer. But we truly hope that you decide to give our bond a chance.”

“I'll think on it,” Bilbo promises before fleeing from the princes, too worked up to notice Thorin as he passes by.

Perhaps the dwarf king should have followed, but he's feeling rather distraught himself at the thought of losing Bilbo. Thorin cannot hope to compete with Fíli and Kíli without the law to stop them – his sister-sons are young and handsome, loyal, sweet, and enthusiastic, and that's without the ashânumahâl to sway his hobbit's mind. The dwarf lord should probably save himself the humiliation of rejection and bow out immediately.

Except... Bilbo had not reacted to the princes' declaration with the happiness that Thorin might have expected. And the dwarf lord cannot doubt that his hobbit truly loves him whatever the karrash that Fíli and Kíli bear.

Bilbo loves _him_ and if Thorin's decree means that the princes can finally speak their intentions, changing the law also means that amrâbulnâs no longer have to follow where the Valar lead. Their burglar does not have to marry Fíli and Kíli just because Mahal joined their spirits; he can choose to make up his own mind instead.

So Thorin tells himself that his sister-sons don't truly need the hobbit, ignoring the naked longing on their faces as they look after Bilbo now. For once the dwarf lord is going to be selfish. This time he's going to do something for himself rather than his people; surely he has earned the chance for happiness after all he's sacrificed. Surely he deserves to love and be loved in return and he won't give up his burglar for anyone.

With that thought, the dwarf lord spins on his heel and heads to the feast, each step matching the determination in his heart. He has a courtship to plan and a hobbit to woo; even Fíli and Kíli can't stand in his way now.

The princes themselves are thinking something similar while the object of their affections simply wonders how his life turned so bizarre. Bilbo cannot deal with this. Repairing his relationship with Thorin would have been difficult enough without Fíli and Kíli suddenly professing their devotion and to think that three royal dwarves could love him is just ridiculous.

He is no lord, no prince or king or consort; he's just Bilbo Baggins. He's just a hobbit who fell in love and wanted to see his darling smile. He faced Smaug for Thorin – he stole and fought and almost died for Thorin – and it shouldn't matter that Fíli and Kíli make the world seem brighter. Bilbo shouldn't listen to the thread of longing in his heart.

He cannot trust that longing. If Aulë bound their souls together – and he cannot truly doubt the princes' claim – Bilbo isn't sure whose desire he is feeling. Perhaps such longing is Aulë's way of nudging his children in the right direction and this care is truly his. Or perhaps Bilbo is only feeling an echo of Fíli and Kíli's adoration, the strength of their emotions swaying his in turn. The burglar can't be sure and he refuses to plan his future on the Vala's meddling.

Besides, it would be dishonorable to run off with the princes. The hobbit promised Thorin that he would have until the spring and no Baggins would break his word without a dire cause.

In truth, Bilbo should refuse Fíli and Kíli's courtship until he concludes his business with their uncle. Only then will the burglar know if he's free to consider other lovers or if this shred of feeling must not be acted on. 

That's what the hobbit _should_ do and that's what he intends to tell the princes when he finds them before breakfast the next morning. But when he sees the hopeful expressions on Fíli and Kíli's face, Bilbo can't bring himself to snuff out the joy within their eyes.

“All right, you may have a chance,” the burglar says, the words spilling out almost involuntarily. “Both you and Thorin may court me through the winter and when spring arrives, I will tell you who I choose.”

“We can live with that,” Fíli replies and he truly means it. After years of silence, both princes are content to be moving forward and neither thinks that Thorin is a real threat to their future happiness. Not after what the dwarf lord tried to do. Bilbo is simply too honorable to go back on his promise and this is not a bad thing; indeed, the hobbit's loyalty only makes Fíli and Kíli adore him all the more.

The dwarves can wait. They will court their amrâbulnas as he deserves and there is no doubt in their minds that Bilbo will choose them when the waiting's done.

In contrast, the hobbit is just happy that he's bought himself some breathing room. Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin will all have their chance to court him and by the time springs arrives, Bilbo will hopefully have decided what to do. The burglar must make a choice one way or the other and he honestly isn't sure if he's dreading or anticipating the long winter months to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not everything has to be a struggle.


	16. Ges-sasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Durin vs Durin + Durin

Thorin makes the first move, beginning his campaign for Bilbo's heart with long walks through Erebor. He invites the hobbit to join him and discover all the wonders of his kingdom, telling his beloved stories from his childhood and sharing the burdens of his crown.

The dwarf lord knows about Bilbo's agreement with his sister-sons – the burglar had told him straight away – but he does not speak about them. Thorin will not win this fight with bitter words or hatred; Bilbo has seen enough of that from him.

Instead, Thorin reveals his kingdom's buried secrets, the hidden haunts that he had discovered back when he was young. He shows Bilbo the cascades of molten silver deep within the mountain and the caverns strewn with gemstones, diamonds shining in the torchlight just like stars.

When Thorin cannot find the time for exploration, he invites Bilbo to his court and while the hobbit does not presume to tell his beloved how to rule his people, he enjoys watching the dwarf lord in his element. The two of them often discuss the day's business over dinner, the king using Bilbo as a sounding board to put his thoughts in order, and the burglar is sure that dwarvish politics will make more sense in time.

Honestly, compared to remembering which of his distant relatives are currently feuding with each other, keeping track of dwarven clan alliances isn't all that difficult. It doesn't hurt that Thorin's court currently consists of about two dozen people: his companions and the nobles from the Iron Hills who decided they would stay. While the dwarf lord has sent messages back to his kin in the Blue Mountains, ravens travel much faster than any dwarven caravan. It will be months yet before most of the Sigin-tarâg arrive.

For now Thorin and Bilbo are able to talk and laugh and sit quietly together without too many interruptions. The dwarf lord listens to his hobbit, paying him the sort of close attention that he never could before, and when he asks to kiss Bilbo, the burglar can find no reason to say no. That first kiss is achingly gentle, little more than a fleeting touch of lips. It's the hobbit who pulls Thorin back down for a proper snog, his doubts momentarily forgotten in a pleasant rush of heat. 

However, despite the dwarf lord's current sweetness, Bilbo cannot shake the memory of those hands around his neck. Sometimes when Thorin is extolling the virtues of his kingdom, his eyes glint gold in the torchlight and the burglar feels as though he's looking at a stranger once again. 

In truth, perhaps he is. King Thorin of Erebor is very different from Thorin Oakenshield in several ways and the hobbit doesn't feel as though he knows this dwarrow yet. Bilbo is discovering a whole new side to his beloved now that their quest is over and it's too soon to say whether or not he likes the changes; whether Thorin's consort is a thing that he can be.

Sometimes Bilbo is relieved to leave the dwarf lord's presence and meet with his nephews, though his time with Fíli and Kíli carries its own frustrations. With the princes, there is no romance to rekindle; this is something new and bright and fragile in its innocence. 

Thorin's nephews seem almost hesitant; determined to court their hobbit but careful not to press. Fíli and Kíli give Bilbo small tokens rather than attempting to match Thorin's grander gestures and his acceptance is always met with sheer delight.

“Why are you so happy whenever I say thank you?” the burglar asks one morning. “I can't deny I like the presents, but you have to know that I don't need them to enjoy your company.”

“We've never done this before,” Kíli admits, looking at the hobbit shyly. “Fí and I didn't have to court each other, but we want to woo you properly. We just want to make you happy, Bilbo, and when you accept our presents, we know we're doing something right.”

The hobbit is more charmed by this admission than he wishes to admit. Indeed, he has to hide a smile when the archer nods once, firmly, as though to turn his words into reality. 

Then Kíli drags Bilbo off to meet his brother in the upper ramparts. The trio spends a lovely afternoon together, wandering from the kitchens to the hot springs to the library before the day is done. The princes' courtship is tailored precisely to his interests and whenever their skin brushes, the hobbit can feel Fíli and Kíli's adoration clear as day.

Yet that's also Bilbo's problem. He can feel _their_ admiration and he isn't sure whether he truly returns the princes' interest or if he's simply being influenced by the strange link between their souls.

That connection seems to be growing stronger now that the hobbit has acknowledged its existence. Bilbo can feel Fíli and Kíli's emotions almost as clearly as his own and blocking the princes out requires concentration. Whenever the burglar loses focus, his walls dissolve and his bond with Fíli and Kíli comes rushing back again. The sense of belonging nearly overwhelms Bilbo and he doesn't know how he managed to miss their connection until now.

The hobbit still isn't sure if he believes in destined lovers but there is something undeniable drawing him to the princes. Bilbo even checked his birthmark, cutting away enough of his ankle hair to see a flash of lettering. His skin is marked with shining dwarvish runes and it would be so easy to surrender, to let the bond guide his choices and call it love instead.

But Bilbo has always been stubborn. The burglar needs to know if there is more to their relationship than some Valar-born connection – what the princes call ashânumahâl – before he can decide.

“I don't know how you do it,” the hobbit says to Ori in a fit of pique one morning. “How do you trust your lives to the Valar's meddling?”

The younger dwarf has been spending more time with Bilbo, leaving Nori and Dwalin alone while they enjoy their honeymoon. The two of them were married just a week ago since Dori and Balin had demanded a proper celebration, one that required a lot of time to plan. Bilbo had been surprised by Balin's enthusiasm since the older dwarf had always seemed quite traditional. But if he had any misgivings about Dwalin's second husband, he did not share them with the hobbit and Balin stood with his brother when the wedding vows were read.

Bilbo was there as well, bearing witness to their marriage with the rest of Thorin's company. The ceremony was short but sweet, just as heartfelt as any that he'd seen in Hobbiton, and the burglar couldn't deny that Nori, Dwalin, and Ori all shone with happiness.

Indeed, Nori seems to delight at touching Dwalin now. Nothing risque, not in public, but he'll kiss the warrior's cheek or rest his head upon his shoulder whenever possible. The dwarf is making up for lost time with a vengeance and Ori just smiles at his brother's antics, his expression blissful even when Nori and Dwalin start to bicker about whether Erebor's new spymaster should keep his hand in thievery.

The trio seems happy, truly happy, and yet Bilbo can't help thinking that this exception proves the rule. He doesn't understand how Ori can be perfectly willing to share his husband with his brother just because the Valar said so, the husband that he'd married for the runes around his wrist. “How can you be certain that what you feel is true?”

“Why would I question it?” the dwarf replies, looking as confused by Bilbo's question as the burglar feels right now. “Mahal knew what he was doing; I've never wanted anyone the way that I want Dwalin and I know that Nori feels the same. We love him and he loves us and trying to deny that would only make us miserable. It did make us miserable before the law was changed. Why would we throw that love away?”

Ori makes things sound so simple but the hobbit can't believe it. Magic doesn't make a marriage. He wants a foundation built on love and friendship since attraction alone can't keep a relationship alive. Bilbo has plenty of the latter; he noticed that Fíli and Kíli were gorgeous before he ever thought of Thorin and learning the price of infidelity hadn't made him blind. In another life, the hobbit would have tried to court the princes. He would have invited one or the other to his bed for a tumble and then seen where things led from there.

However, it doesn't seem right to sleep with Thorin or his nephews until he's made his decision. All this talk of destiny has made Bilbo wary of giving either side false hope and while a different hobbit might have tried to keep all three dwarrows as his lovers, Bilbo has never been that type.

The hobbit finds it odd enough that Fíli and Kíli courting him together seems completely natural and that's probably just the Valar's magic messing with his head. The princes are Fíli-and-Kíli as much as separate entities but adding Thorin to the mix is a different kettle of fish entirely. 

Indeed, the three of them have their first true argument after Fíli and Kíli catch Bilbo and the dwarf lord kissing one afternoon.

“Why would you let him do that? Did you forget he tried to kill you?” Fíli growls while his brother looks at the hobbit with disappointed eyes. “I know you're giving Thorin another chance but he hasn't earned the right to touch you. Not like that.”

“I still love your uncle and I will kiss him if I want to,” the burglar tells him firmly, keeping his voice level despite the roil of emotion in his gut. Bilbo isn't afraid that Fíli will try to hurt him; he knows in his bones that the prince would rather die. But the hobbit has to fight in order to keep himself from giving in to the pain in Kíli's heart. “What I do with Thorin is _my_ decision, not yours, and you will not win my favor by yelling at me now.”

This relationship will never work if Bilbo can't be his own person; if they can't learn to disagree, argue and annoy each other, then they should quit right now. The hobbit is working on this same issue with the dwarf lord – even without a bond, Thorin's opinions can be forceful – and he feels a rush of fondness when Fíli simply sighs.

“All right. Fine,” the blond dwarf says, running a hand through his hair while Kíli nods reluctantly. “We'll just have to show you that we're the better choice.”

The princes give Bilbo two sweet kisses of their own before leading outside on their planned excursion, searching out the gardens that used to line the upper slope. There isn't much left, but the trio finds treasures nonetheless: winter flowers and buried bulbs that the hobbit will be able to grow with his own hands. Bilbo loves plants and the dwarves love him and none of them mention Thorin after that.

Indeed, the burglar's suitors barely acknowledge their private competition. The three dwarves are strained but civil as they go about their duties every day. After all, the world has not stopped turning just because Thorin and his sister-sons are courting the same person and there is much work to be done.

The entire company has thrown themselves into the restoration, their sweat and tears rebuilding the Lonely Mountain piece by piece. Between the original fourteen and the warriors from the Iron Hills, there are enough hands to clear the rubble, the evidence of Smaug's destruction cleared from their kingdom's hallowed halls. Erebor is becoming something beautiful once more, a safe haven for all of Thorin's people, and Bilbo does his best to help. He can't match the strength or the stone sense of Aulë's children but every project needs a good organizer and the hobbit has always had a talent for keeping things on track.

However, even though Bilbo makes himself useful and he never doubts his welcome, the burglar still doesn't quite feel like he belongs.

“Are you happy here?” Thorin asks the hobbit a few days after Yule has come and gone. The two of them are sharing supper and while the food is just as good as usual, Bilbo cannot shake off a slightly melancholy air. His thoughts are heavy and Erebor is weighing on him, though this day was little different than the ones that came before.

Perhaps that is the problem. Spring is on its way and the burglar feels no closer to making his decision than he was two months ago. Bilbo loves Thorin; he thinks that he will always love Thorin but, Valar- born or not, the hobbit truly cares about the king's sister-sons as well. He can't bear the thought of breaking Fíli and Kíli's hearts by marrying their uncle any more than he can bear the thought of hurting Thorin for a love that isn't real.

That is the true but Bilbo doesn't want to burden his beloved with that knowledge. Thorin doesn't need the added trouble now.

“I don't know, my dear,” the hobbit says with a wan smile. “Sometimes I think I've never been happier and sometimes I still feel like a stranger in these halls. Sometimes I miss the green hills of Hobbiton so much that I can't breathe. But you shouldn't listen to my rambling; I am probably just tired. I never realized how much effort it takes to be a king.”

“It becomes easier with time,” Thorin tells Bilbo, stroking the hobbit's cheek with one calloused hand. “There is joy in serving and once the mountain is restored, I'm sure that we'll find time to visit Hobbiton again.”

Bilbo lets these words soothe his doubts for the moment. The dwarf lord's kisses are always good for clearing out his mind. But the hobbit's uncertainty only comes back stronger and he feels increasingly out of place as more of Thorin's kin arrive. Most of Durin's Folk chose to travel through the winter instead of waiting for the spring; their hearts too eager to see their old home again. 

With every group that passes through the gates of Erebor, Thorin becomes more the king that he was meant to be and more of a stranger to his beloved's eyes. The King Under the Mountain must be strong and proud and fair in all his rulings; what use does he have for a hobbit when he needs a consort by his side?

All three dwarves are out of Bilbo's league. Watching Thorin and his heirs at court, the hobbit does not feel as though he belongs in such fabled company. His family may be wealthy by the Shire's standards, but he loves food and books and lazy evenings by the fire as much as a good adventure and he could happily live the rest of his life without seeing another battlefield. Bilbo is no warrior. The hobbit isn't even a proper diplomat and he doesn't know how to rule a dwarven kingdom. Thorin may value his advice, but that doesn't make his words worthwhile or even close to right.

Bilbo has done his best. He's tried to learn the nuances of his beloved's culture and suggest solutions that will leave all parties satisfied. But meeting the dwarf lord's sister has made his failures obvious. Dís has been filling in for Thorin's missing consort since before the hobbit was a spark in his parents' eyes.

The dwarrowdam knows her people. She understands her brother's temper and the shape of dwarven pride and when she tries to teach the hobbit, he's never good enough. Bilbo always misses something vital and he can't escape the feeling that he's a disappointment in her eyes. Dís makes him feel unworthy of both her children and her brother. She makes him feel disloyal when he thinks of going home.

Dís loves Durin's Folk above all else. Bilbo thinks she would do anything to make her people prosper and whether the hobbit married Thorin or the princes, Dís would expect him to share that sacrifice.

Bilbo doesn't know if he can do that. He doesn't want to settle for visiting the Shire once a decade and yet he cannot ask his dwarves to leave their home.

The thought of Thorin giving up his throne is laughable and while Kíli might be happy in Hobbiton, Fíli is the crown prince of Erebor. He takes his duties seriously and that isn't the sort of position one abandons for a romance, not even for some fairy tale of destiny.

Perhaps Bilbo should just leave. Perhaps going home would give him clarity. But when the hobbit mentions leaving, the stab of pain in his princes' eyes nearly brings him to his knees. The words are barely out of Bilbo's mouth before Kíli is offering him a score of reasons why he cannot travel: the passes are still blocked by snow, there aren't enough supplies to spare, what if there are more orcs upon the plain? The list goes on and on until Bilbo finally takes pity on the archer's panicking.

“Relax, love. Spring has not arrived yet and I'm not going anywhere,” the burglar reassures Kíli. He reaches out to touch the prince's shoulder, letting their connection deepen to soothe the hurt he feels. It would be so easy to ask the princes to come with him and the hobbit nearly speaks the question without even meaning to.

“Would you...?” Bilbo starts before he regains his senses, dismissing that idea as utter foolishness. There is no point in asking when his dwarves would just deny him; Fíli and Kíli couldn't possibly leave the Lonely Mountain and forcing the princes to admit this truth would only cause them pain.

Yet Bilbo cannot give up his home either, not without being sure, and he can't trust his feelings where the princes are concerned. What the Valar granted can just as easily be taken and while Fíli and Kíli claim to love him, the hobbit can't be sure. As much as he enjoys their company, their relationship is built on something insubstantial and that's simply not enough. The burglar cannot stay in Erebor unless he stays for Thorin and that relationship soon proves itself a hopeless dream as well. 

Bilbo's breaking point occurs a few weeks later. One of the new arrivals is caught stealing rubies from the mines and he's brought before the King Under the Mountain to receive his punishment. The hobbit expects the thief to be exiled or perhaps imprisoned for a while but Thorin orders his execution without a moment's hesitation.

Bilbo cannot hide his shock and even though Dís explains that her brother must set a firm example, this is the final straw; this seems proof that the Thorin Bilbo loved has been consumed by Erebor. The burglar does not have the strength for such decisions – he does not have the heart – and he starts to pack that afternoon. It is nearly spring now; Bilbo should be able to travel without facing dire snowstorms and it is time for this hobbit to go back home again. If he stays much longer, he fears he'll lose himself in trying to love Thorin and even if the weather turns foul, there are several kings to the west who have offered him their hospitality.

Once made, this decision takes a weight off of the hobbit's shoulders, Bilbo feeling free and incredibly guilty all the same. He never meant to play with anyone's heart and he certainly never meant to lead his dwarrows on. Yet the hobbit cannot regret loving Thorin any more than he regrets his time with Fíli and Kíli; he only regrets the pain that he knows his choice will cause.

So Bilbo seeks the dwarf lord out once he's finished packing. He finds Thorin in his study and the king takes one look at his expression before murmuring, “I see you've made your decision and you haven't chosen me.”

Thorin has been expecting this conversation. Part of his heart never believed that any love could be stronger than the ashânumahâl and he's felt his hobbit growing distant over the last few weeks. But seeing the truth in Bilbo's eyes still stings.

“I'm so sorry,” the dwarf lord's burglar tells him, the expression on his face enough to make a strong man cry.

“It's not your fault,” Thorin murmurs, pulling Bilbo into his arms. He can't let his hobbit carry that guilt upon his shoulders; his heart will recover and they were just not meant to be. “You gave me a fair chance and neither of us knew about your runes when we began this. I do not regret the time we've spent together. You have brought me happiness.”

“I do love you,” Bilbo says, the burglar's words muffled against the dwarf lord's chest. “But this life of kings and courts is not for me. You were meant to rule and I cannot be the partner that you need. I belong in Hobbiton and I will not ask you to give up your throne for me; not when we fought so hard to free your homeland and I know how good a king you'll be.”

 _No. I would not give up Azsâlul'abad for anything,_ Thorin thinks and in this revelation, there is a sort of peace. 

The dwarf king loves his people and his homeland, and if Bilbo cannot stand beside him, then he has made the right decision. Thorin would never want his beloved to resent his position and this relationship would end badly if the hobbit tried to make him choose. Because the Lonely Mountain would always win that contest, _always_ , and that's no love to offer someone who does not love this stone as well.

His burglar deserves someone who will put him first instead of second and that's something Thorin knows his sister-sons can do.

“Have you told Fíli and Kíli?” the dwarf lord asks Bilbo gently. He intends to offer his congratulations, showing the hobbit that he bears the princes no hard feelings. But Thorin's question is met with a cry of distress that cuts him to the bone.

“Bilbo? You _have_ chosen my sister-sons, haven't you?”

“I can't!” the hobbit wails. “I can't stay here and I can't ask them to come with me. I won't."

“Why not?” Thorin asks him, honestly confused. Although his relationship with Fíli and Kíli has been strained by their competition, he still wants his sister-sons to be happy and despite all his justifications for continuing his courtship, the dwarf knows that Fíli and Kíli would be happiest with Bilbo at their side. “My sister-sons would join you in a heartbeat and while I would miss Fíli's help, I would not deny him. Erebor will not collapse that easily.”

The king means the words as a comfort but when he finishes, Bilbo just looks more horrified. 

“You cannot mean that,” the hobbit exclaims. “I assumed they would deny me but their acceptance would be worse. I can't let Fíli and Kíli throw away their future on some dream of destined lovers when I still don't know what I feel. I care about them; I care about all of you but I do not understand how love based on magic can be real. Hobbits do not have ashânumahâl; we have second dates and marriage contracts and I cannot deal with this. This is not how hobbits do things, not at all."

Bilbo's voice grows louder with every word until he's almost shouting and Thorin has to wonder how long the hobbit has kept these feelings bottled up inside. But even though Bilbo clearly means what he is saying, the dwarf lord cannot help but argue because his burglar has never been more wrong.

“Maybe you should spend less time worrying about what is possible and more on that which is,” Thorin says, hoping to stop the heartbreak that he sees looming near. 

If Bilbo seemed happy about leaving, that would be a different matter but the only thing on the hobbit's face is misery. There is sorrow to match the pain Fíli and Kíli will feel on learning that their amrâbulnas has left without them; sorrow to match the twinge in Thorin's heart, that foolish organ refusing to understand that it has no claim on Bilbo now.

However, the hobbit will not listen to reason. He is set on this course of action no matter how it pains him and he's always been too stubborn for his own damn good. All of Thorin's arguments are met with firm denials, the dwarf king's skill at oratory failing him utterly.

“Will you tell them that I'm sorry?” Bilbo pleads when Thorin finally falls silent. “I never meant to hurt your nephews but it has to be like this."

“Won't you even say goodbye?” the dwarf lord asks and he can't help feeling that he's failed his sister-sons when Bilbo shakes his head.

“At least say that you'll return,” Thorin pleads for their sake. “Will you return someday?"

“I don't know,” the hobbit tells him honestly. “If I could be sure of my own heart, then maybe... But I cannot trust the Valar's magic and I don't know if I would have the strength to leave a second time. That's why I cannot say farewell; I would stay to make your nephews happy and so I must leave right now."

That sounds like love to Thorin, but it's clear that dwarves and hobbits treat these matters differently. After all, the ashânumahâl is the greatest gift that the Smith can give his children, but Bilbo seems to bear it as a burden, one that has him close to breaking from the weight.

As much as the dwarf lord may wish otherwise, he cannot force the hobbit to remain. That would break the bonds of friendship that still stand between them and he had sworn that Bilbo would have no more cause to curse his name.

However, Thorin shakes his head when his burglar holds out a handful of gleaming mithril. “Keep it. That gift was not conditional and I would see you well protected on your journey home. You will always be a friend to the Sigin-tarâg even if you never choose to grace these halls again. You will always be my friend even if you cannot return the love I feel."

“Thank you. I truly thought I would be happy here. I just...” the hobbit trails off with a helpless shrug. “Will you tell the others I am sorry that I could not say goodbye? Tea is at four and there's plenty of it but you are welcome anytime.” 

Bilbo gives Thorin one last hug before slipping from the room. The dwarf lord watches him go with a heavy heart and while he probably could have gathered the others before their hobbit reached the gates, Thorin does not even try.

Let the burglar run in silence like a coward; the king may have no right to stop him but he will not celebrate his choice.

Thorin spends the next few hours working steadily; there is always something that needs the king's attention and the endless lists of trade expenses keep him from dwelling on his grief. Although he and Bilbo were not bonded, he truly loved the hobbit and the dwarf lord's heart will need time to recover from this blow.

Not only his, of course. Even as Thorin writes out his directives and answers urgent letters, he is waiting for his sister-sons to realize that their amrâbulnas is gone. At some point, the younger dwarves should feel it and Thorin knows the princes will ask him for an explanation first.

Indeed, the knock arrives just as afternoon is fading into the evening, the door opening to reveal Fíli and Kíli when Thorin calls, “Come in.”

The dwarf lord waves his sister-sons inside and signals Fíli to close the door behind him; this is not a conversation that should be overheard. The princes' expressions are solemn and Kíli's eyes are red like he's been crying, though there are no tear tracks on his face. 

“Bilbo's gone, uncle. Did you know that?” Fíli asks him quietly. The older prince is speaking for his brothers – he always does when things get hard – and Thorin feels a rush of fondness for them both. Fíli and Kíli are practically his children. He's soothed their hurts and eased their sorrows, and he should never have allowed the quest for Azsâlul'abad or their competition over Bilbo to drive them all apart. But despite the strain on their relationship, Thorin's sister-sons still need him and this time, the dwarf lord will not turn their pain aside.

“Yes, Fíli, I knew,” Thorin says as gently as he can. “Bilbo came to say goodbye. He told me that he was planning to return to Hobbiton. Will you and Kíli go as well?”

At this question, the archer lets out a choked sob. Kíli presses closer to his brother and Fíli hugs him tightly, his own voice rough when he replies. “If Bilbo wanted us to come, he would have asked. And... we can feel him, you know? Not as strongly as each other – he's trying hard to block us – but we know how much he's hurting. He's miserable, Thorin. Our amrâbulnas chose misery over the love we tried to show him and we cannot force our presence on him now.”

“He didn't want us, uncle,” Kíli continues when his brother falters. “Bilbo chose to leave and if you were strong enough to let him go, then we must be as well.”

But Thorin's strength came from Azsâlul'abad while his sister-sons only have each other and an amrâbulnas who doesn't want what they have to offer him. Fíli and Kíli are trying to stay strong, the princes blinking back tears as they clutch each other's arms. Thorin's sister-sons will suffer in silence if he lets them, but this is the dwarf lord's chance to make things right. 

“Come here, my sister-sons,” Thorin tells them, pulling Fíli and Kíli into his arms. The princes are stiff at first but the dwarf king doesn't let them go. His sister-sons need to know that they are still his family; blood stands together no matter what and Thorin won't forget that truth again. He waits patiently until Fíli and Kíli let out a broken cry. Their hands clutch at the dwarf lord's shoulders as he hugs them tightly, murmuring words of comfort against the princes' hair. 

For all his gold, Thorin cannot stop their sorrow. The king can only hold his sister-sons as they weep against his chest, Fíli and Kíli mourning the loss of their hearts' dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> \---  
> \---  
> \---
> 
> So... well...
> 
> I did say this one was gonna hurt. There's a reason I stuck that in as tag number 24.   
> If it helps, there's still 3 more chapters. So things might still get better. Maybe.  
> (Also known as, please don't quit me now...)


	17. Hadedsasekh

Bilbo doesn't look back when he leaves the Lonely Mountain. The hobbit keeps his gaze on the road ahead as he marches into Dale, seeking out Bard and asking the man for shelter overnight.

He and Bilbo had gained a measure of friendship over the long months of winter – man and hobbit bonding over planning charts and annoying dwarven habits – and Bard is more than happy to offer his hospitality. The man gives Bilbo a bed beneath his roof and a seat at his dinner table, Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda greeting the hobbit graciously. Although Bard is clearly curious, he doesn't ask any questions about Bilbo's plans or what sent him running from the mountain suddenly.

The hobbit is grateful for his silence. His nerves still feel raw from his conversation with the dwarf king and while he's trying to block his connection to the princes, Bilbo is out of practice. Some things keep slipping through.

He knows when Fíli and Kíli realize that he's left them; Bilbo feels the exact moment that their joy turns into pain. The princes' sorrow crashes through him, smashing his walls to pieces and the breath out of his lungs. He chokes and gasps, his plate slipping from numb fingers to clatter on the floor. Bilbo has ripped their hearts out – he can feel the gaping wound – and in so doing, the hobbit carved a hole inside his chest. Even when he blocks Kíli and Fíli, the ache doesn't fade completely; although he cannot feel their misery, he can still feel his own.

But Bilbo did the right thing – he _did_ – and if he holds his course, the pain of separation has to fade away in time. So the hobbit tells himself that this is for the best. He tells himself that he isn't disappointed when he wakes up the next morning and no one's come after him.

The burglar wants to wallow but he plasters on a smile, forcing himself to eat his breakfast even though he has no appetite. Once everyone has finished, Bilbo thanks Sigrid for the meal and asks Bard if any boats are traveling to Thranduil's hall today. The hobbit will take any ride available – trade barge, canoe, or rowboat; he'd even hide in fish again to leave the mountain's shadow now.

However, that sort of sacrifice isn't necessary. Bard volunteers Bain to take Bilbo across the lake to Thranduil's kingdom, the two of them leaving as soon as the breakfast plates are cleared. Bain is a sweet kid and he chatters on about his friends while the hobbit stares into the distance, a few grunts enough to keep Bain talking happily. Bilbo lets the words wash over him as their small boat travels across the breadth of the Long Lake. When they reach the other side, the boy takes them up the river into Mirkwood and soon Bain is leaping lightly onto the elf king's dock.

He ties his boat off before helping Bilbo and by the time the hobbit has settled his pack onto his shoulders, Tauriel is standing there. 

Thranduil forgave her disobedience for her deeds in battle and now the elfine is the captain of Mirkwood's guards again. She earned the respect of her king, the respect that she had wanted, and Tauriel has no regrets about the choices that she made. Not when the borders are finally open, the dragon is dead, and trade is flowing between three kingdoms once again. Not when her prince is ever at her side.

Indeed, Legolas is there to offer Bain his greetings as one prince to another. The elf gives the boy a message for his father, seeing Bain off before turning to the hobbit. Legolas is still a little distant but Tauriel makes up for her prince with cheerfulness. The two of them escort Bilbo to Thranduil's palace, a journey that took only a few hours on the river requiring the better part of a whole day. However, traveling through Mirkwood as a guest is very different from being an intruder and the hobbit can't deny that there is beauty even here. 

When the trio finally arrives, Thranduil welcomes Bilbo into his home with open arms. The elf king has softened greatly ever since the battle ended and the white gems of Lasgalen were finally returned. Indeed, he counts the hobbit as an ally for his efforts with the Arkenstone and he's more than happy to help Bilbo reach his home again.

“You have earned my friendship, Master Baggins, and you will always be welcome in my kingdom,” Thranduil tells him. “Though I admit I'm surprised you didn't arrive here with twenty dwarves as escort. Erebor's royal family is very fond of you.”

The elf king might have said more – he loves a decent monologue – but the look on Bilbo's face stops him cold. The hobbit has gone pale; so pale that Thranduil doesn't have the heart to ask him what went wrong.

Bilbo doesn't realize what he looks like; he's too busy trying to breathe through the vise around his chest. The magic that binds him to Fíli and Kíli does not approve of separation and thinking about the princes only makes the feeling worse. The hobbit doesn't have the strength to wonder why Thranduil has fallen silent; Bilbo is just grateful that he stopped poking at that wound. 

Indeed, none of the elves ask the hobbit why he's leaving. The escorts Thranduil gives him simply lead the burglar through the forest, their conversation unassuming as they guide Bilbo around the pitfalls that catch trespassers unaware. Even without the traps, the hobbit comes close to walking into trees more than once. His attention is focused inward, the ache inside his chest growing stronger with every step he takes. Apparently the Valar don't like it when their gifts are rejected and while distance dulls Bilbo's sense of the princes, it doesn't dull the pain. But the hobbit is stubborn and he learns to shove down the hurt just as he shoves down his guilt and loneliness. 

By the time the burglar and his escorts reach the western edge of Mirkwood, his bonds have been reduced to a throbbing ache within his mind. It's constant but endurable and Bilbo is determined to ignore the feeling until it goes away.

“Thank you for your help,” the hobbit says to Tauriel when they stand outside Beorn's door a few days later and he doesn't only mean for the protection that she has offered him. The captain proved a fine conversationalist over the course of their journey – full of tales about the forest and eager to hear stories of the world outside. Speaking about Hobbiton helped Bilbo to remember why he left the Lonely Mountain, his longing for his home drowning out the need for other things.

“You are welcome, Bilbo Baggins, and I believe that we will meet again someday,” Tauriel replies as Beorn comes out to meet the hobbit. “But now we must both be moving on.”

Bilbo watches the captain until she and her warriors have disappeared over the next hill and then he turns to the skin-changer. The hobbit is slightly wary of Beorn since their last meeting was on the battlefield, with bloody bits of orc dangling from the bear's enormous jaws. But it seems that Azog's death has improved the skin-changer's disposition and he smiles widely as he welcomes Bilbo back into his home. 

The burglar spends several weeks beneath Beorn's roof, waiting for the path across the Misty Mountains to finally clear of snow. It's a long wait but Bilbo tries to stay busy, helping the skin-changer with his chores in exchange for his extended room and board.

Two pairs of hands make the work go faster and Beorn finds uses for Bilbo's small fingers here and there. The hobbit often spends his evenings as a tailor and while darning gives him time to brood, he uses it to justify the path he chose to take. This was the right thing to do – the hobbitish thing – and the princes will be better off without him. Fíli and Kíli will be happier with their kingdom and their kindred than they could be in the Shire; the burglar is not worth such sacrifice. Even if his heart was certain – even if Bilbo could have believed that a love built on magic was the truth – their lives were just too different. Thorin showed him that.

So the hobbit does his best to put Erebor and her children from his mind and for the most part, he succeeds. But sometimes his thoughts drift back to the Lonely Mountain and the dwarves he left behind. 

“Do you believe in destiny?” Bilbo asks Beorn one evening when they're sitting by the fire. He's been thinking about Fíli and Kíli and the words slip out unintentionally. Indeed, the hobbit blushes furiously when the skin-changer turns to look at him quizzically. But it's too late to take the question back and maybe Beorn will be able to offer some advice.

“What do you mean?” the skin-changer replies.

“Do you believe in destined lovers? People the Valar decided should be matched together,” the hobbit says, trying to explain the ashânumahâl as best he can. “Dwarves do. Some of them are born with names printed on their skin and their hearts bonded to another so that they'll never be apart. They see these connections as a gift – as the highest love that anyone can offer – but hobbits have never been comfortable with outside forces meddling in the things we do. We leave that sort of interference to our mothers and it does not seem right for the Valar to tell us whom to love.”

“That does seem rather foolish,” Beorn agrees after a long moment, the skin-changer considering each word carefully. “And I do not know of any such bonds amongst my people. But love has always seemed a foolish thing to me. That is the nature of it: to burn brightly and recklessly like an untamed fire and only the lucky few are left with banked embers instead of injuries. I cannot blame the dwarves for seeking a better guarantee.”

“I've never thought of it like that,” Bilbo replies. “But how can you trust that the Valar made the right choice? How do you know it's real if your feelings aren't based on anything?”

“The Valar do not control us, it is not in their nature, and I do not believe that a heart can be forced. The destined lovers that you speak of may be linked together but that doesn't mean they have to follow as the spirits lead. There is always a choice and whatever love grows between those people is surely real enough to them.”

Beorn's words are pretty and part of Bilbo wants so badly to believe they could be true. But Fíli and Kíli's declaration had been so sudden and the bond between them so unnatural, how can he believe that the dwarves' minds are unclouded by the Valar's meddling?

However, the hobbit doesn't want to insult his host by dismissing his opinions so Bilbo simply shrugs and says, “Perhaps. But I do not think that destined lovers will ever seem quite right to me.”

“I think you should not run from love. It is foolish and reckless, yes, but it is also a rare treasure and one worth fighting for,” the skin-changer replies. Yet there is no judgment in his voice and he continues with a shrug. “But that is simply my opinion. We are all still free to choose. Now, have you finished mending that last pair of trousers?”

Bilbo lets Beorn change the subject without comment and the two of them speak no more of this. Their conversations focus on lighter subjects until the high pass finally clears. Then it's time for Bilbo to move on toward home again.

Beorn accompanies the hobbit through the Misty Mountains, bringing him to the highest peak before saying his farewells. He leaves Bilbo to make his own way to Rivendell since there is little danger now. Most of the orcs and goblins in these parts were slaughtered on the plains of Erebor and while the journey sometimes drags, the burglar does not fear for his safety as he did before.

Indeed, Bilbo has encountered only one other living creature on his way down to the lowlands: a stray raven that often hops from rock to rock. The hobbit hadn't known those birds could survive where the trees give way to lifeless stone, but the raven seems content to ride the winds above his head and if Bilbo sometimes tosses a piece of bread in the bird's direction, that's simply a 'thank you' for the gift of company. The long nights get lonely after all.

Bilbo means to stop in Rivendell before the last stretch of his journey but without Gandalf here to guide him, the hobbit cannot find the entrance. One pile of rocks looks much like any other and if Elrond's people left a signpost, it's not one that he can find.

“You haven't seen a bunch of elves, have you?” the burglar asks a nearby raven after an hour's futile search. “They've got a hidden valley and lots of pretty houses somewhere in these parts.”

Bilbo doesn't expect the bird to answer him. He's mostly just venting his frustrations at this point. But the raven looks directly at the hobbit and then shakes its head, a strangely disapproving look in its beady eyes. With one last dismissive caw, the bird flies away and leaves the burglar gaping on the ground. That raven could have been the one he met in the Misty Mountains, perhaps the bird has followed him all the way from Erebor. But even though his dwarves use these birds as messengers, Bilbo can't believe that a royal raven would be here.

 _Unless... No. It's just your imagination,_ the burglar tells himself. Although he spends a few more minutes looking for Rivendell, Bilbo's heart just isn't in it anymore. He would have liked to see the elves again, but he doesn't know if he could walk through the hidden valley without dwelling on Thorin's company.

Indeed, this is probably for the best. Elrond seems like the type of person to offer unsolicited advice and the hobbit doesn't need the elf to judge his choices, not when Bilbo has finally managed to lock down his bonds so tightly that he can't feel anything at all. Elves probably find their lovers by throwing rune stones beneath a glowing moon or some such nonsense and being told to trust the Valar won't help the hobbit now.

The Valar are the problem. If the burglar could have believed that Fíli and Kíli truly loved him, this whole mess might have ended very differently. Bilbo couldn't have stayed in Erebor but he could have asked the princes to come with him. He could have allowed Fíli and Kíli to decide whether they thought his love was worth it and depending on their answer, the hobbit might not be so alone right now. The trio could have compromised, traveling back and forth between the Lonely Mountain and the Shire, building a life that married adventure with all the comforts of a home.

But thinking about what could have been is both pointless and depressing. So Bilbo simply puts his head down and starts marching westward once again. Every step brings the hobbit closer to the rolling green hills that he has called home all his life.

Something in Bilbo's heart skips a beat when he finally crosses the borders of the Shire, a quiet voice announcing, _This is where I belong._

These fields and forests are more beautiful to the hobbit than the treasure hoard of Erebor could ever be. While he sincerely regrets the circumstances of his departure from the mountain, it is good to be back home and eagerness quickens the burglar's steps as he nears Bag End.

Yet Bilbo's joy is tempered with confusion when he rounds the corner and sees a crowd around his smial. It cannot be a welcome party – the hobbit told no one he was coming – and indeed, the looks that he receives are far more shocked than welcoming. Bilbo shoves his way through the crowd while his friends and neighbors stare at the burglar as though they've seen a ghost. In truth, perhaps they have. The hobbit who left the Shire is not the same hobbit who returned but his long absence does not excuse the blatant thievery that seems to be going on.

“My chairs, my spoons, my mother's glory box... What is going on here?” Bilbo roars in fury. “Why are you stealing everything I own?”

“This stuff isn't yours. It belongs to Bilbo Baggins,” a strident voice replies and the hobbit turns to see Lobelia Sackville-Baggins glaring up at him. “He went mad and ran off more than a year ago so we declared him dead and we're auctioning his things.”

“ _I'm_ Bilbo Baggins and you know it, _cousin,_ ” the burglar growls back. “And in case you haven't noticed, I'm very much not dead.”

Bilbo snatches his silver spoons from Lobelia's grasp and marches through the gate, glaring at the auctioneer who has set his table in front of Bag End's door. “This auction is a farce. I'm not dead, I was simply on a journey and I would dearly like all my furniture returned!”

The other hobbit hems and haws and finally stammers, “Can you prove it?”

“What?!”

“Can you prove that you're really Bilbo Baggins? You could be an impostor trying to claim his fortune for your own.”

“An impos- Are you _kidding_ me?” Bilbo exclaims, waving at his face. “Half the hobbits here have known me all my life. What more proof do you need?”

“Something official,” the auctioneer replies. “Something with your name on it in writing should suffice.”

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” the burglar mutters as he searches through his pockets. Bilbo isn't sure why a piece of paper is better proof of his survival than his actual presence, but at this point he just wants everyone to get off his property. This is not the homecoming he imagined and it seems fitting that the only paper Bilbo can find is Thorin's contract since agreeing to be the dwarf lord's burglar is what started everything.

“Here. Will this do?” he asks rather shortly and hands the paper over.

“Hmm. Perhaps. Perhaps,” the other hobbit says, pulling out his spectacles to examine Balin's tiny script. “Who is this Thorin Oakenshield you pledged your service to?”

Bilbo opens his mouth to deflect the question since it's none of the auctioneer's damn business. But when his eyes catch on Lobelia's spiteful face, the hobbit pauses. If he keeps silents, his relatives will be free to tell all kinds of stories and considering this stupid auction, Bilbo would prefer to control that narrative. He doesn't owe them the whole truth, but if his relatives are going to think he's crazy either way, the burglar might as well give them something really juicy. _Maybe they'll be too busy gossiping to bother me at home._

So instead of speaking plainly, the hobbit asks in false surprise, “You mean you've never heard of Thorin Oakenshield? For shame. The dwarves of the east call him the Lord of Silver Fountains or the King Beneath the Mountain, but I called him my intended and if things had worked out differently, I'd be ruling Erebor right now.”

The whole crowd gasps at this revelation and Bilbo knows the news will be all over the Shire in an hour. That's enough for him and he turns back to the auctioneer, but Lobelia never did know when to leave things be.

“Why didn't you just stay there, cousin?” the hobbitess asks snidely. “If this dwarf was so amazing, then why are you back here?”

Bilbo grits his teeth, trying to keep his temper when Lobelia's words cut a bit too close to bitter memories. 

“Because life is fucking complicated,” he bites out eventually. “Because Thorin is a king and I'm a hobbit and I could hardly stay in Erebor once I broke his nephews' hearts. You hear that, Lobelia? Two princes and a dwarf king tried to court me when all you could find in the whole Shire was Otho Sackville-Baggins to fill your marriage bed. But I suppose that was the problem. I did not wish to ruin what we fought for – not when I'd faced a dragon – and I was not suited to balancing a life of royalty. 

“So if you see any dwarves looking lost around the Shire, please point them toward my smial,” Bilbo continues, looking at his neighbors. “Otherwise, just leave me alone to nurse my broken heart and give me my damn furniture back by dinnertime.”

“Oh yes, of course,” the auctioneer stammers. “Your paperwork seems to be in order so this is most embarrassing.”

Bilbo snatches back his contract from the other hobbit and then stomps into Bag End. He slams the door behind him before slumping against the wood with a deep sigh. His speech had struck a bit closer to home than he'd intended – particularly the last part – and the sight of his barren smial does not improve his mood. The hobbit's neighbors have stripped Bag End of everything, the only furniture remaining that which is built into the walls, and setting his house to rights will require several days minimum.

 _I guess I had better get started,_ the hobbit thinks, squaring his shoulders against the task ahead. As much as he enjoys relaxing, he has never shied away from hard work when required and the physical labor should keep him focused on the present instead of the past again.

It takes Bilbo nearly a week to return Bag End to its former state and even then there are a few pieces of furniture that he hasn't managed to reclaim. Only about half his neighbors brought back their purchases as ordered; the others forced the hobbit to seek them out himself. Some of them demanded payment for their trouble – Bilbo quite grateful for the bag of gold that he'd brought back – while others refused to admit that they'd bought anything at all. The burglar tracked them down through the chain of Shire gossip and if the items that he couldn't live without mysteriously reappeared in Bag End overnight, well, that's what a magic ring is for.

But eventually the job is done. Bilbo sets the last knickknack on his mantle and pronounces his home restored. All things considered, the burglar thinks he's done a decent job of settling back into Hobbiton after his long absence and he's fully prepared to stay right here for the remainder of his life. No more wild adventures or grand romances, not for him.


	18. Gimonsasekh

Bilbo lasts three months before he admits that he's not happy. The hobbit should be happy now that he's home where he belongs and indeed, his love for the Shire helps to mask his discontentment for a time. 

Some mornings, Bilbo goes to the market. He buys enough food to last the next few days and a little extra, the stores in his pantry slowly replenished over time. Shelf by shelf he replaces what Thorin's company had eaten until all evidence of the dwarves' visit is completely gone.

The hobbit spends other mornings writing, trying to record the details of his journey while they're still fresh in his mind. He's thinking of writing a book, a fairy tale for fauntlings that will teach them about the world outside the Shire: all the joys and danger that can be found if they just dare to look. 

Of course, there's no guarantee that anyone would ever read that story since Bilbo has become something of a stranger to his friends and family. The more traditional hobbits and hobbitesses seem to think that he'll corrupt their children with ideas of adventure while the Tooks and Brandybucks talk like he's a hero when they see him on the street. Indeed, the story of his return has traveled across the Shire like a racing elvish pony and it's a rare day when no one knocks on Bilbo's door.

The other hobbits always show up right at teatime with their questions and their staring and if the burglar is home, he usually lets them in. It's partially politeness and partially a form of penance; the hobbit deserves discomfort after all the pain he caused. 

Besides, Bilbo's visitors usually bring pity cakes to soothe the broken heart he'd mentioned and no hobbit would ever turn down gifts of food. The burglar eats and deflects and to those he likes best, he tells portions of the truth. Bilbo's journey hadn't been all death and hardship; there had also been friendship, loyalty, and laughter, and it's comforting to remember all the good times now.

However, on some afternoons, the curious are forced to leave in disappointment because the Baggins of Bag End is not at home. This is almost more scandalous than anything else – hobbits are _always_ home at teatime – but Bilbo finds that he doesn't mind missing a few meals here and there. After all, the burglar missed plenty over the course of his journey without coming home much worse for wear.

When the mood strikes Bilbo, the hobbit leaves his smial and goes to soak in sunshine by the old mill pond. He spends hours cloud-watching, refusing to think of Erebor even when a raven soars across the sky. Once in a while, the burglar even dips his feet in the water, toying with the idea of learning how to swim.

His dwarves had certainly liked the water and the skill would have come in handy on the quest for Erebor. But the hobbit doesn't quite dare to try without someone here to teach him and it's not as though his companions will soon be dropping by. 

Bilbo left the invitation but he doesn't actually expect his friends to take it. So the burglar sits there on the bank and says that life is fine.

Honestly, the hobbit _is_ fine. During the day, he can keep busy and he barely thinks of Erebor or his dwarves at all. It's the nights that trouble Bilbo. When he runs out of distractions and his brain spins on and on.

The burglar misses his companions then. He misses Bofur's kindness and Dwalin's patient teaching, Nori's wicked joking and Dori's mothering. Bilbo misses Thorin fiercely, misses the dwarf lord's steadiness and his kisses, his love for his kingdom and his undying loyalty.

Yet it's Fíli and Kíli who burn brightest in the hobbit's memory. While Bilbo still cannot imagine their uncle being comfortable in the Shire, the burglar sees his princes everywhere. Their ghosts sit laughing by the fire as he prepares his supper, Fíli's amused smile almost real enough to touch. 

The princes walk with Bilbo on his way to the marketplace, Kíli's voice inside his head offering a running commentary on everything he sees. The younger prince would have loved the market: the people and the travelers and the children playing by the stalls. Fíli could have told the fauntlings stories while his brother acted out each part and Bilbo stood near to correct them when they got a detail wrong.

It's a gorgeous dream and the hobbit wants it desperately. He wants to introduce his dwarves to Hobbiton, bake them Yule cakes and teach Kíli how to roll out a pie crust properly. He wants to spend lazy days in his bedroom, loving and laughing on a bed that no longer feels so empty and show the princes the grotto by the mill pond that's just about their size.

But such wishes are impossible. Bilbo made his choice and he has to live with the result; the hobbit left and he's still not convinced that that was wrong. There's nothing to be gained from missing his companions or admitting to the longing that seeps through his bond at night.

The burglar is happy enough, isn't he? He doesn't need his dwarves as friends or lovers to make his life complete. Bilbo is bound to fall in love with someone else eventually and then he'll have his romance without any Vala's meddling. The hobbit is certain of it even if Thorin was the first person that he'd ever truly considered marrying and most of his kinfolk seem so boring to him now.

Three months after his return to Hobbiton, Bilbo is still waiting for this romance to arrive. Indeed, the burglar is quite alone when one of his young cousins stops by for tea and changes everything. Marigold has always been a curious lass – she's made the burglar tell the tale of his adventures five times over and she's not content with the same rough version of the story that everyone else receives. Marigold wants to know the details, all the details, and her pleading convinces Bilbo to share more personal memories.

He tells the lass about Thorin and their romance, how he won the dwarf lord over with deeds of bravery. Marigold suitably impressed by Thorin's skill and majesty but then she wants to know how Bilbo could have left him for his nephews. Why he didn't just reject them and marry Thorin anyway.

So the hobbit tries to explain Kíli's boundless energy and his brother's fond exasperation, Fíli's desire to take care of his kindred and the archer's deadly focus when their lives were on the line. Bilbo cannot let Marigold believe that Thorin's nephews were less than wonderful. Because his dwarves were stubborn, funny, and quite infuriating. They were as sweet as any love could ask for and completely baffling. Fíli and Kíli were not perfect. But the princes' imperfections only made their virtues shine the brighter, their courage more impressive for their fear. 

Indeed, Kíli and Fíli were exactly as they should be – just as the Valar made them – and while Bilbo had complained about their manners sometimes, the hobbit did not truly wish to change them. He didn't want to change anything that made his dwarves unique.

“It sounds like you really love them,” Marigold says when he's finished speaking and without a second's hesitation, the hobbit answers, “Yeah. I do.”

In speaking the words aloud, the hobbit finally hears their truth. He loves Fíli and Kíli. That's why he misses them so dearly and can't escape those memories. Bilbo loves them and it's no Valar's bond that made him say it. The hobbit has his connection to the princes locked down tightly but thinking of their sorrow makes his heart ache anyway.

Indeed, the smile drops from Bilbo's face when he realizes what this means. The hobbit loves Fíli and Kíli and he broke their hearts in two. The burglar broke his own heart in the process without even realizing and destined lovers or not, he doesn't know if the princes will forgive him for the way he'd left; the way he'd run away if he's being honest now. Bilbo had needed to leave the Lonely Mountain, but he should have done it differently.

So the hobbit drops his walls, letting Fíli and Kíli into his heart without restriction as he's never done before. He needs to know if there is any hope of reconciliation but the emotions slamming into Bilbo send the burglar to his knees. Because there is only sorrow; love and grief and an endless longing that tries to swallow Bilbo whole. If a soul could die from yearning, the hobbit would have perished instantly, his breath stolen by a desperate need to see his dwarves again.

“Cousin Bilbo? Are you all right?”

A touch on his arm grounds the burglar within the maelstrom of emotion and Bilbo pushes back his princes' pain enough to whisper, “Marigold?”

“Should I get a healer? Are you going to die?” the lass asks and with some effort, the hobbit manages to focus on her face. Marigold is worried about him, almost panicked, and Bilbo can't have that. So he dampens his connection to Fíli and Kíli until he can breathe again, though the echo of their sorrow still burns beneath his skin.

“I'm all right, my dear. I promise,” Bilbo says with a pained smile. “I simply hadn't realized how much I love my princes until now. I love them more than anything and the knowledge that I've lost them was a bit too much to bear.”

“Why can't you see them? Don't they love you too?”

“Sometimes love is complicated,” the burglar tells her. “Fíli and Kíli live in Erebor and they have duties to their kingdom while I... I didn't even say goodbye.”

“Then you should say you're sorry,” Marigold replies. “That's what my mother always tells me when I do something wrong. If these dwarves really love you, I think that they'll forgive you as long as you apologize. After all, mum forgave me when I broke my grandma's crystal vase; she just had to yell a bit before she could calm down.”

It sounds so simple when she says it. But Bilbo has felt the grief he caused his princes and there's no way that an apology would heal those gaping wounds. He threw away Fíli and Kíli's love over fear and indecision, and he can't expect the brothers to forgive his cowardice; Bilbo can't even forgive himself right now. 

So the burglar makes his excuses to Marigold, sending the lass off with a pocketful of cookies and his apologies. Not good behavior for a host but Bilbo's cousin doesn't seem offended, taking her leave with a cheery promise that things will work out soon.

The hobbit isn't nearly as optimistic. Yet Marigold's suggestion will not leave his mind and by the time he's finished supper, Bilbo is sure he has to try. The burglar has stolen his princes' choice too many times already. Fíli and Kíli had deserved to choose whether they wanted to come with him and things might have turned out very differently if he'd tried harder to explain his turmoil instead of sneaking off. So Bilbo refuses to make that same mistake again. He cannot simply decide that the princes do not want to see him even if their hatred is the most likely outcome now. 

Perhaps the hobbit could send his regret along the bonds between them. But Fíli and Kíli also deserve to choose whether or not they want to feel him. Bilbo will not force his apology upon them, not when using their connection might sway the brothers' minds. 

Instead the burglar sits down at his writing desk and tries to find the words to make his princes understand. It does not go easily. The first ten drafts are crumpled on the floor in minutes – too presumptuous, too cold, too stilted for what the hobbit needs to say. Bilbo does not want to assume anything about Fíli and Kíli's feelings; he just wants to tell the princes that he's sorry for his actions and it's nearly dawn before the hobbit thinks that he has the phrasing right.

Simple is best. If he keeps it simple, there can be no misunderstandings, just a few short lines pouring Bilbo's heart out on the page.

 _I am so very sorry,_ his letter reads after the standard opening. _I never meant to hurt you but I had to leave in order to know how much I loved you, to trust that I loved you when we were Valar-matched. But I do. I love you more than I thought possible and if you are willing, I would like to see you both again. I want to tell you these things in person now that I finally know the truth._

_However, if you do not want to see me, I more than understand. Whatever happens, I pray that both of you find joy and contentment in your lives. I will be waiting here in Hobbiton for whatever you decide._

The phrasing is still a little rough but the words are honest. So Bilbo signs his name down at the bottom and then puts his head on his desk for a moment to rest his tired eyes.

He is woken up just after sunrise by a tapping on his window. There is a familiar-looking raven standing on the other side of the glass, a strip of leather tied around the ankle that is tapping on his windowpane. The symbol is familiar, marking the raven as a bird of Erebor, though Bilbo can't imagine what it is doing here.

Perhaps Thorin truly had sent one of his kingdom's ravens to watch over the hobbit. Indeed, this might be the same bird that had refused to show Bilbo the path to Rivendell and he's seen several ravens over the last three months; he's even tossed them breadcrumbs when he made too much for tea.

“Have you been watching me?” Bilbo murmurs, reaching out to open the window and let the bird inside.

Thorin must truly have meant his words of friendship, something that the hobbit hadn't quite believed. But why else would the dwarf lord send the raven back once he knew that Bilbo had reached the Shire safely? Thorin must have hoped for reconciliation, wanting to ensure that the hobbit could talk to those he left behind. Indeed, the raven just caws once before hopping forward and tapping Bilbo's letter with his beak.

“You want that, do you? Well, it's meant for Fíli and Kíli, Thorin's nephews. Can you see that it's delivered to their hands?” the burglar asks. “But only if they want it. If they don't, please give the letter to Thorin to do with as he will.”

Bilbo feels a little silly speaking to a bird but the raven seems to understand him, nodding its head in answer to each question that he asks. So the hobbit rolls up his letter and wraps a scrap of leather around the paper to protect it from the elements on the journey east. Then he ties his message to the raven's leg.

“Fly safe,” Bilbo says, holding the window open once again. With one last nod, the raven leaps into the air, carrying the hobbit's hopes on windswept wings to Erebor.

With his letter sent, the burglar continues with his life as best he can. The only difference is the thread of hope he cannot squash and the sense of Fíli and Kíli that he doesn't try to block. Bilbo keeps their connection open this time, letting their bond tell him what little that it can. Truthfully, the hobbit doubts his princes have noticed any difference when his bonds are so much weaker than the one the brothers share. But even this small thread makes Bilbo's world seem new.

The burglar's heart leaps at every echo and when the sense of sorrow suddenly fades, he drops to his knees and cries with happiness. Fíli and Kíli must have received his letter and while he cannot tell what they've decided – their bond grown thin with distance and denial – the hobbit is relieved to know that his words have eased their pain. That alone was worth the effort even if they don't forgive him and Bilbo tries not to hope too much.

Indeed, months pass without a letter from his princes. Summer fades into autumn and autumn into winter, and it's nearly Yule before there's a knock on Bilbo's door. Probably one of his cousins with another fruitcake – the hobbit has received half a dozen and expects a dozen more. Bilbo likes Yule, he likes the singing and the parties, and he's already smiling when he opens up the door.

Fíli and Kíli are standing on his porch.

Although the dwarves are travel-worn and weary, they are still gorgeous in his eyes. Bilbo opens his mouth to greet them but he has no words; there is too much that should be said and too much that he is feeling. His princes are here, their eyes shining with love and with forgiveness, and while the three of them will need to speak at some point, this is not the time.

“Oh my darlings,” the hobbit chokes out. He stumbles forward and the brothers catch him, sweeping their amrâbulnas into a hug. Fíli, Kíli, and Bilbo wrap their arms around each other as the last barrier between their hearts starts to crumble and in this instant, they are home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short epilogue left now. Hope this helps to make up for the last few chapters :)


	19. Tagersasekh (aka the Epilogue)

“Truly?” Bilbo asks. “Neither of you? Not even together?”

“We are amrâbulnâs and rather famous ones at that. We could hardly sleep with someone else even before we married,” Fíli explains quietly. “And it just... it never felt right without you.”

“You don't mind, do you? That we aren't experienced?” Kíli asks from his position by his brother. The dwarf's voice is hesitant as his eyes plead for Bilbo not to leave them and the hobbit knows that this uncertainly is entirely his fault. 

He caused his princes so much pain with his indecision – his inability to accept the bond between their spirits – and it will take time for Fíli and Kíli to trust him once again. Bilbo broke their hearts and even though the dwarves still love him, such memories don't disappear. However, the hobbit has no more reservations. He knows what he wants and he's prepared to spend the rest of his life proving his devotion if that's what it takes.

“Of course I don't mind. It's not as though I've had that much experience myself,” Bilbo tells the archer firmly, reassuring him with bond and touch alike. “I was just surprised; both of you are gorgeous and I'm sure you've had plenty of offers. But I'll be overjoyed to teach you everything I know.”

“Everything?” Kíli asks, visibly brightening.

“Yes, love. Anything and everything. I haven't lain with many people but I've done a lot of reading and we can figure the details out together. How does that sound to you?”

“That sounds perfect,” Fíli says. He presses a soft kiss to Bilbo's cheek and then another one to Kíli's before leaning in to kiss the hobbit properly. They bump noses a few times until they find the right angle, the difference in their heights giving the dwarf a little trouble. But the kiss deepens quickly and Bilbo lets out a giggle when Fíli's mustache rubs across his skin.

“Come on, you two. You have to share,” Kíli protests with a truly epic pout. The hobbit laughs again, going up on his tiptoes to oblige the archer with a sweet kiss of his own. 

Kíli wraps his arms around Bilbo's waist and pulls him closer while Fíli starts to undress. The younger dwarf is eager if not practiced, his movements a little clumsy as he follows the burglar's lead. But the archer is a fast learner and pleasure shared is pleasure doubled, the ashânumahâl singing between them in delight.

Fíli can feel their joy echoing inside his chest, love and adoration filling the last lonely corners of his soul. He and Kíli are complete now and the past can be forgiven; there's no reason to keep picking at still healing wounds.

So the dwarf allows happiness to fill his heart completely before picking up Kíli and Bilbo both at once. The trio tumbles down onto the bed in gales of laughter, bits of clothing flying everywhere. Fíli shoves a hand down the hobbit's pants while his brother strips him quickly, the two dwarves kissing every bit of skin that they can reach.

Soon Kíli is the only one still wearing clothing and Fíli gives Bilbo a mischievous smile before taking care of that. The older dwarf knows all his brother’s weak spots and he keeps Kíli distracted while the hobbit yanks off his clothes impatiently.

Once all three of them are naked, Fíli sets his mind to pleasure. No one is entirely sure whose hands are where but it doesn't matter, not when the ashânumahâl ensures that every touch is shared. When calloused fingers wrap around Bilbo's cock, Kíli throws back his head and gasps right with the hobbit. A firm leg slides between the archer's thighs and Fíli groans in answer, losing himself in his beloveds and the slide of skin on skin.

Bilbo still isn't used to feeling his amrâbulnâs this strongly, the way that their desire burns within his chest. But the hobbit likes it. He likes being certain of his lovers' pleasure and while he doesn't know their bodies yet – not the way he wants to – he lets the ashânumahâl guide his searching hands. 

There is joy in this discovery. There is delight in learning that a bite to Kíli's shoulder only makes him harder and that the tips of his brother's ears are extremely sensitive. The hobbit likes making Fíli laugh and Kíli giggle with his kisses. Bilbo has always enjoyed kissing, the wet slide of heat and teasing tongues. But he enjoys tasting his lovers more and he has to grin at Kíli's wide-eyed wonder when he swallows the archer down.

“Durin's beard!” the younger prince exclaims, bucking his hips sharply, and Bilbo really should have known that he would be loud in bed.

“You like that, love?” the hobbit murmurs as he pulls off again.

“I do. I really do,” Kíli tells him hazily. “I never knew that sex could feel this good. Or be so much damn fun.”

He grabs Bilbo by the arms and tugs the hobbit into another heated kiss. Fíli watches them for a moment as they rut against each other, echoes of their pleasure dancing across his skin. The two of them are beautiful, strong and stubborn and sometimes exasperating, and he must be the luckiest dwarrow in the world to have them for his own.

So Fíli moves to join his lovers. The dwarf presses himself against Bilbo's back and steals a kiss from Kíli before letting his hands wander as they will. The pleasure builds between them, spiraling ever higher as the trio moves together and the ashânumahâl amplifies each new delight. Their world narrows to heat and desire, to the joy of touch and laughter, and when Kíli finally falls, he pulls his amrâbulnâs over the edge as well.

The dwarves and their hobbit collapse into a pile, shifting around until all three of them are comfortable. Soon Bilbo is sprawled half on top of Kíli while Fíli snuggles up against the hobbit and the archer's arms wrap loosely around them both.

“I think that went rather well,” Bilbo murmurs after a moment. Kíli doesn't reply since he's already lost to dozing, but his brother answers the hobbit in his place.

“I'm glad you think so,” Fíli replies with a wry smile. “I thought you'd be complaining since I almost elbowed you three times.”

“Hey, now. None of that,” the burglar chides him gently. “Having three people in bed together just takes a bit more planning and I'm sure we'll get better with practice. In fact, I have to say I'm looking forward to the studying.”

“Me too,” Fíli agrees. He lets out a quiet chuckle before his expression turns more serious, “I want to thank you, you know, for allowing us to love you. I know this wasn't the way you thought your life would be.”

“Oh... no, Fíli. You don't have to thank me for that. This may not be the future I expected but I couldn't be more happy now,” Bilbo replies softly as he reaches out to grab the prince's hand and interlace their fingers. “I made both of you miserable for so long and for that I'm truly sorry. I should be thanking you and Kíli for giving me another chance.”

“I won't deny it hurt us,” Fíli says, squeezing the hobbit's hand. “Letting you ride away was one of the hardest things that we ever had to do. But our people's laws didn't help the situation and I know you had your reasons. I may not understand them but I'd rather you be certain. If you had chosen us and then changed your mind, that would have been much worse. So what happened happened and while I might wish that you had realized your true feelings sooner, we have a lifetime now. More than a lifetime if Mahal's gift holds true.”

“I hope it does, though I plan to enjoy our future to the fullest either way,” Bilbo tells the dwarf with a fond smile. He leans over to give Fíli another kiss before snuggling back into Kíli's arms. The younger prince pulls both of his amrâbulnâs closer without waking and the hobbit can't deny that he is happy. He can't deny he's grateful that their long journey led them here.

 

_Finis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. A sincere thanks to everyone who came this far with me. I hope you enjoyed the journey as much as I enjoyed the writing.
> 
> I have to admit, I still miss the original epilogue (it was beautiful, damn those corrupted files), but this version has grown on me. A little less sex and a bit more introspection because that's just how I roll.

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary:
> 
>  _amrâbulnas/amrâbulnâs_ – soulmate / soulmates  
>  _ashânumahâl_ – the bond/connection between soulmates  
>  _karashumrâb/ karrushamrâb_ \- soul mark / soul marks (in this fic, marks are always the name of the person's soulmate, though the language varies)  
>  _karash / karrash_ \- mark / marks (primarily used for the soul marks that are not officially recognized by dwarven law)  
>  _the Sigin-tarâg_ – Thorin's clan, the Long Beards, sometimes all of Durin's Folk because I am both inconsistent and unclear on canonical dwarvish politics.  
>  _Azsâlul'abad_ – Erebor  
>  _Azanulbizar_ \- the battle where Thrór dies and Azog loses his arm.  
>  _Mahal_ \- Aulë  
>  _Kaminzabdûna_ \- Yavanna  
>  _Khazâd_ \- Dwarves  
>  _Ered Luin_ \- the Blue Mountains (this is actually elvish, not dwarvish, but whatever)


End file.
